


All Along

by vilia



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: ASMR, Accidental Voyeurism, Adolescence, Age Regression/De-Aging, Coming of Age, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Puberty, Puppy Love, Remix elements, Romantic love, Sexual Fantasy, Time Skips, but with mitigating factors, canon era AU, long term pining, medical exams, nothing inappropriate by older party, patient!merlin, smitten!arthur, vast age difference
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2018-10-13 20:49:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 80,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10521576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vilia/pseuds/vilia
Summary: Arthur has always loved Merlin, the kindly old court physician. As he grows and begins to leave childhood behind, his feelings mature with him and it doesn’t take him long to realize that Merlin is changing too, affected by a spell that puts the two of them on a collision course with fate itself.





	1. Stories and Lessons

**Author's Note:**

> About the Lack of Archive Warnings: This work follows Arthur from young childhood into adulthood and discusses his development from his point of view, including his physical growth, fantasies, and private behaviour. I don’t know if this counts as underage or not. The story starts G rated, but the explicitness increases as Arthur ages.

There’s never been a time when Arthur hasn’t loved Merlin. When he was barely old enough to walk, he’d toddle over to the old man and say in his baby voice, “story, Merlin,” and the wrinkled old physician would oblige, telling him tales of courageous princes, cruel kings, and when he was old enough to keep the secret, stories with great magic, even though his father had strictly forbidden such things.

When he started his formal education at the age of five, Arthur learned that not all old men were as lovable as Merlin. His primary tutor, stuffy old Geoffrey of Monmouth, was the worst and Arthur liked to sneak away whenever he found the opportunity. Invariably, he’d find himself in Merlin’s chambers, watching the man heal the sick, tend the injured, and advise those seeking his council. Merlin taught him all sorts of interesting things during his visits—things about poisons and antidotes, about dragons and the druids. Merlin even taught him the proper name and function of each part of the body, telling him that it would help him later to defeat his enemies and care for injured friends.

It was safe to say that Merlin was his favourite person. Arthur loved his father, even though the man never paid him much attention except to tell him when he’d done something wrong, and while Morgana could be annoying, Arthur imagined that having her around was rather like having a sister and he liked that. The way Arthur felt about Merlin wasn’t at all like how he felt for his father or for Morgana. Merlin was different somehow, special.


	2. Battle and Bones

When Arthur turned seven, he began training alongside the page boys. Sir Kay and the other knights taught him horseback riding, hawking, combat, hunting, swimming, archery, and a whole host of other useful skills. He worked with the knights at least two hours every day and by the age of 10, Arthur was already an excellent horseman. He thought for sure that his skills on horseback were fairly equal to any of the knights, maybe even to his father.

“Overconfidence,” Sir Kay was fond of saying, “is the quickest way to an early grave.”

Arthur should have paid more attention.

It started in the throne room. Arthur sat in the chair next to his father, feet dangling off the floor. It took a conscious effort not to swing his legs. His father always glared at him when he did that. It would be easier to resist if this weren’t so boring, but court was in session and all he was allowed to do was listen as his father heard complaints and pronounced judgements. Talk of taxes, grain supplies, and the like never interested him. He would much rather hear of sword fighting or fire breathing dragons. Still, he tried his best to pay attention as a woman from a nearby village stood in front of the dais requesting repairs to a local ford that had washed out during a recent storm.

The petitioner cut off midsentence when the doors at the end of the hall burst open. A soldier raced in and nearly fell flat on his face as he brought himself to a sudden halt beside the woman.

“My apologies for the interruption, your Majesty. I bring urgent news from Sir Pellinore.”

“Sir Pellinore is stationed near the border with Mercia, is he not?”

“He was, my lord.”

The man handed a small scroll of paper to the king with a bow. Uther completed his reading and let out a bark of, “Court is ended for the day. Petitioners may return in two weeks.”

Murmurs spread through the hall.

“Two weeks!”

“What’s happened?”

“It must be something terrible!”

Uther said, “Call a meeting of the senior advisors at once. Bayard has crossed the border.”

Arthur wasn’t allowed in the meeting, but he stood out in the hall so that he could hear the news first. He’d have put his ear to the door to listen in if not for the guards stationed on either side of the entryway.

Ages later, his father emerged and said, “Arthur, have your servant prepare your things. You will ride out with us at first light.”

Arthur stood in shock for a moment, then a broad grin took over. His father was letting him ride to battle! He hadn’t ever suspected he’d be allowed to come. His father must have seen him training. Arthur hadn’t realized he ever did that.

Uther continued to give commands. “You there! Send a message to the court physician. There will be casualties and we’ll need him along as well.”

Arthur’s smile fell. He didn’t worry about his father. The king had been in many battles and was an excellent swordsman. All the knights said so. But what if their lines broke and Bayard’s men made it through to their medical tent? Who would protect Merlin? Arthur clenched his fists. He would have to make sure that didn’t happen.

In the morning, Arthur rode through the castle gates next to his father, leading the long column of soldiers and knights north and east out of Camelot to meet Bayard. He’d seen Merlin earlier, hefting a heavy looking bundle of canvas into one of the medical supply carts with little effort.

When Arthur was younger, he’d thought Merlin to be absolutely ancient—a few hundred years old at least, but back then he’d worn loose fitting robes and a long white beard with his scraggly hair falling past his shoulders. Then one day, Merlin had suddenly shaved the beard, cut his hair short, and started wearing more fitted clothing and it hit Arthur that Merlin wasn’t nearly so old as he’d thought. He was still old, that was true—he had the wrinkles to prove it—but it must have been his imagination that made him think those lines weren’t quite so deep as they had been. He looked more of an age with Sir Olwin, the spry quartermaster, and he’d heard the other knights say that Sir Olwin would be turning 60 later in the year.

Arthur crested a ridge and looked back along the line of soldiers. The supply carts trailed along behind. Merlin would be in one of them, but he was too far away to be able to tell which one specifically.

They rode all day and into the evening, stopping only shortly for lunch at midday and once in the afternoon to rest the horses. As the sun began to set, one of their scouts returned and informed the king of Bayard’s position. They were only a few miles away, already bedded down for the night.

Uther called a halt and the soldiers set up camp with practiced efficiency. Seeing as the enemy was so close, cook fires were prohibited. Arthur found that his toes missed the warmth of the fire more than his belly did.

His servant set up a tent for him that was a good three times bigger than any of the soldier’s tents were. The low bed inside was nowhere near as comfortable as his mattress back home, but not so uncomfortable that he shouldn’t have been able to sleep. He tossed and turned anyway. He told himself it was excitement over the coming battle.

In the morning, he finished his breakfast of pickled eggs, bread, and cheese, then left his tent. The camp was already in motion. Soldiers were packing away their tents, loading them back onto the supply wagons. A stable boy who Arthur thought was named Lancelot walked past leading Uther’s courser, already dressed in his barding. Uther himself strode about, inspecting the men. In full armour, his father looked impressive and regal, maybe even a little intimidating, everything a king should be on the morning before battle. Arthur went to his side.

“Arthur, when we break camp, you are to ride with Sir Cador. He will show you to a hill from which you might observe the battle. Pay attention. One day you will be leading the men.”

“You mean I’m not coming with you?”

His father snorted a short laugh. “Of course not, you’re just a child! You have far more to learn before you wield a sword in battle.”

Arthur nearly stomped his foot. He couldn’t be left behind! How was he going to protect Merlin, his only real friend, if he wasn’t out on the field?

Some of the page boys were friendly with him, but that was because he was the prince and they wanted to curry favour. The only exceptions were Gwaine, who made fun of him—liked to call him Princess—and Percival, who was far too polite for Arthur’s liking. It reminded him of how the commoners treat his father. Merlin was the only person in the whole world who treated Arthur like a normal person. He couldn’t let anything happen to him. And yet, what choice did he have?

Less than an hour later, the army was on the move again and Sir Cador was leading him away. To make the situation even more frustrating, Arthur’s dull-humoured tutor, Geoffrey, rode at his side. Arthur kept looking back over his shoulder at the army as the distance between them grew greater and greater. He kept a running tally in his head of how quickly he could get back if he saw something coming from his vantage point, if Bayard’s men tried to outflank them. If that happened…

Arthur imagined himself racing back to the army, drawing his sword and fending off the enemy attack, turning the tide of battle and saving the day. That was the sort of thing princes were supposed to do. Merlin’s stories were filled with heroic acts like that. His father would be so impressed, he’d hold a banquet in Arthur’s honour.

“Prince Arthur? Did you hear me?” Geoffrey said.

“Hm?”

Geoffrey cleared his throat. He did that whenever he disapproved of what Arthur was doing in lieu of scolding him openly—as he would have done with any child who wasn’t the king’s son. Geoffrey cleared his throat _a lot_.

“I was saying, my lord, how lucky you are to be able to witness such a rare battle.”

Arthur didn’t feel lucky; he felt nervous. He hated that. Surely if he were on the field, he wouldn’t feel this uneasy, would he? A prince couldn’t be like that. He had to be courageous. He sat taller in his saddle and puffed out his chest, determined to look confident, even if he didn’t feel it.

Geoffrey completely ignored his distraction and continued his lecture, talking on and on about the rarity of pitched battles and how brave it was of Uther to ride out to meet Bayard in this fashion in order to avoid the potential for a long siege.

From his vantage point sitting atop his horse, staring out at the clearing that would soon become a battlefield, Arthur could see Bayard’s men approaching through the breaks in the trees. They carted siege engines along behind their infantry. They’d come intending to take Camelot’s citadel.

Camelot’s army was well hidden for now on the other side of the clearing. Merlin and the rest of the support group—mostly wives and children of the foot soldiers, were stationed even further back.

A horn sounded from Bayard’s side as they caught sight of what stood in their path. Their mass of foot soldiers shouldered pikes, spears, and longbows. A small contingent even held crossbows. They formed up into reasonably neat ranks, pikemen in front to deter Camelot’s cavalry. These were well trained soldiers. Their rearguard consisted of a good 200 men on horseback, clad in sparkling, polished armour.

Geoffrey began narrating the proceedings. Arthur found he could hardly pay any attention to the lecture as Camelot’s men left the relative safety of the tree line and advanced, arranging themselves in a similar pattern to Mercia’s army. Uther had chosen this spot well. Not only was the clearing shaped in such a way so as to limit Bayard’s maneuverability, but the terrain was also to Camelot’s advantage as they held the higher ground.

Arthur scanned Camelot’s army looking for his father. Uther wasn’t at the head of the soldiers, as he had been while the army travelled. Now he was near the back, calling out orders.

All too soon, arrows were loosed and men began to die on both sides. Even from this distance, Arthur could hear the men screaming, some in pain or fear, some in defiance or rage.

He meant to pay particular attention to Sir Kay but found his eyes straying to Sir Madoc. He’d seen more battles than Kay and he maneuvered his horse about the field with no fear. His squire, Lucan, rode nearby with his bow. The two of them worked as a team, Lucan defending his knight as Sir Madoc engaged Mercia’s cavalry. Arthur watched as Lucan rode in just close enough to be able to piece armour, retreated before coming within range of Mercia’s knights, then repeated the procedure to take down another enemy.

Arthur nearly growled at the injustice of it. Lucan wasn’t _that_ many years older than Arthur. He’d barely been a squire for a year. Why was he allowed to fight when Arthur— _the prince!_ —was not?  

The infantry on each side had seemed reluctant to engage, but after the hand to hand fighting began, it wasn’t long, not even half an hour before the men showed evident signs of fatigue. That was when something changed behind Camelot’s lines. The men seemed to rally and Arthur saw why; his father was donning his helmet and joining the fray. Where he went, men followed and fought valiantly.

His father was the most impressive man on the field. Even the king’s horse was incredible. Uther dropped the reins completely and guided the animal only with the pressure of his legs, leaving his hands free to wield sword and shield.  The horse reared and kicked, even bit at enemy soldiers. He never shied from the noise of battle and never lost his footing, even when confronted with a tangle of fallen bodies.

Shortly after Arthur’s father took the field, Bayard’s main infantry unit broke and retreated, taking heavy casualties in the process. Camelot’s horseman were loosed to chase them all the way back across the border. Shouting erupted on the field below and Arthur could finally breathe easily.

“Let us go congratulate the king on a fine victory, Your Highness,” Geoffrey said.

When they rode back into the support camp, the mood was not as cheerful as Arthur had expected. Men and women rushed every which way. Soldiers carried wounded men back from the battlefield, laid them out on the ground when there was no room left in the medical tent.

Percival ran by carrying a pail of water in each hand. Arthur called to him.

“Sorry, my lord! Merlin needs this water straight away.”

Arthur let him go but followed right behind as Percival ducked into the medical tent. If he’d thought the area outside was chaotic, inside was far worse. Men moaned and screamed in agony or despair. Women moved about with bloodied hands, wrapping wounds and offering what little comfort they could in the way of a wet cloth over the forehead and soothing words.

Arthur moved to the side of one man who was currently unattended. The man wasn’t a knight, just a common foot soldier. He had a thick shafted crossbow bolt buried in his thigh.

“Your Highness!” the man croaked out. “How goes the battle?”

“We’ve won the day.”

“Ahh,” the man said, though it sounded more like a response to his pain than it was to the good news.

Arthur floundered for the right words to say. “I’m sure Merlin will be over soon to help you.” He looked over at the women tending the other injured men and tried to copy them. He grabbed a clean cloth, dunked it in one of the buckets of water Percival had brought and used it to wipe the sweat off the man’s brow.

“You shouldn’t be doing this, Your Highness. Tending to me is beneath you.”

“A good lord finds any opportunity he can to tend his people,” Arthur quoted from his lessons. “And right now, I have nothing more pressing.”

The man lay back and closed his eyes. A few minutes later, Merlin came to the man’s bedside and gave Arthur a peculiar look.

“What are you doing here, Prince Arthur?”

“I’m helping!”

“If you’re here, that means the battle is over. Shouldn’t you be seeing to your father?” Merlin said, and it would have seemed a chastisement if not for the fact that he was smiling.

“He’ll return shortly. I’ll see to him then.”

“Ah, well. I’m in no position to command anything of you.”

Arthur nearly snorted with laughter. Merlin told him what to do all the time. Not when there were other people around, but when they were alone, Merlin always told him just what he thought. No one else did that with him.

“Since you are here, tell me what you think of this man’s injuries.”

“He’s got an arrow in his leg.”

“Terribly observant,” Merlin said with a flat voice. “Any recommendations for how it should be cared for?”

“It’s not be removed except by a skilled physician.”

“And why not?”

“You might do further damage, plus the arrow might be limiting the blood loss. If it were to be pulled out before you’re ready, he could bleed to death.”

Merlin started working on the man’s leg, cutting the fabric of his trousers to expose the wound, then washing the area down to assess the injury. “And what would you do if it were a stab wound instead? Bleeding profusely?”

“On his leg?”

“Just as you see here.” Merlin began prodding at the skin around the arrow, and the soldier groaned.

“I’d press on the artery in the leg along the thigh.”

“Show me.” Merlin gave the soldier a thick strap of leather to bite down on. “Percival! The iron!”

Arthur put the palm of his hand against the soldier’s inner thigh as Merlin had shown him when he was younger.

“Press harder, Prince Arthur. You’re going to save this man’s life.”

Arthur looked up to Merlin, but he was all concentration. He couldn’t really mean to be letting Arthur help with such an important task…

“On three. One…”

Could he?

“Two.”

Arthur pressed as hard as he could on the man’s leg, could feel the throbbing of the artery against his hand as he blocked the main flow of blood to the soldier’s leg.

“Three.” And Merlin yanked the arrow out in one swift motion. The soldier did his best to scream, but the sound was muffled as he bit down hard on the leather. Arthur watched as blood seeped from the wound despite his best efforts. Merlin mopped the blood up, poured fresh water in the wound to get a better look at the damage, then cleaned that as well, took the red hot iron from Percival, and touched it to the wound. The stench of burning flesh filled Arthur’s nose, made his stomach churn worse than any of the gore on the battlefield had. Merlin’s face was passive, perfectly calm and in control.

As soon as he was satisfied that the bleeding had been stopped, Merlin administered a few drops of a pale yellow potion, and moved on to help another patient. A woman stepped into the spot Merlin had vacated and wrapped the cauterized wound in fresh bandages. The soldier closed his eyes and breathed in deep lungfuls of air. He looked as though he’d be asleep in moments so Arthur took the opportunity to excuse himself.

It had only taken a day to intercept Bayard’s army. It took three for the entire army to return to Camelot. Arthur was glad to be back. He was mounting the main stairs from the courtyard, intending to head straight to his chambers for a bath and sleep when someone called to him from behind.

Arthur turned. It was the soldier that he’d helped Merlin with in the medical tent. The man supported himself with a roughly formed crutch.

“I’m terribly sorry to trouble you, my lord.” The man looked up at him wide eyes and an open expression. “I just wanted to make sure you knew how grateful I am to you. For saving my life back there.”

Arthur wanted to protest. He hadn’t done anything. Merlin deserved all the credit. But the man was insistent, claiming he would have bled to death before Merlin got to him if not for Arthur’s presence.

“I know I’m not nobility, so I can never be a knight, but for what it’s worth, your father has my undying loyalty. When you one day succeed him, that allegiance will pass on to you.”

Arthur put the whole business out of mind. It had been a minor thing really, and his father wouldn’t be happy to hear the story. Arthur could imagine the lecture well enough. He’d got in enough trouble when he was younger for spending so much time around Merlin. His father seemed to think it was acceptable for Arthur to get his hands bloodied in combat, but not in aiding his own men.

The battle continued to be the main topic of discussion for weeks. Gwaine refused to stop bragging about how he’d run vital messages between the king and the infantry’s squad leaders. Percival told them about the worst wounds he’d seen and about how many men that he’d thought were surely going to die were in fact still alive thanks to Merlin’s great skill. Arthur had little to contribute to the conversation in terms of his actions during the battle, but he could relay what he saw. He told Gwaine and Percival about Sir Kay, about Sir Madoc and Lucan, and about his father’s amazing skill with his courser.

“You keep bragging about the king’s courser,” Gwaine said one afternoon, “but we haven’t seen the horse in action, not even in practice.”

“Yeah,” Percival said, “it’s too bad that we’re always busy with our own training or chores when the trainer is working him.”

Gwaine gave a sly grin. “That’s not the only way to see the animal at work.”

Percival cocked his head to the side and said, “but no one’s allowed to ride the king’s horse, except the king himself and the royal trainer,” as though that would end the discussion.

“ _I_ could do it.” Arthur knew his father wouldn’t be pleased if he found out, but Arthur wouldn’t be punished just for taking the horse on a short jaunt. And, Arthur reasoned, his father never had to find out about it in the first place. Arthur was sure he could handle himself on the animal. It wasn’t as though he didn’t work with horses every day. Kay said he was a natural, that he picked up new skills faster than any of the other boys.

“All right,” Gwaine taunted, clearly thinking Arthur was going to back out. “Let’s see it then.”

Arthur puffed out his chest and turned resolutely toward the stable. He may not have had an active role in the battle, but he could prove right now that he should have been allowed a place on the field.

He waltzed into the royal stable, dismissed the groomsman to an early supper, and saddled his father’s horse himself. Percival looked around as if convinced that someone was going to come and punish them at any moment.

The horse was a sleek beauty with a deep brown, nearly black coat that shone in the late afternoon sun. Though not as large as a destrier and certainly smaller than a work horse, he was a mass of solid muscle. He was both agile and strong. Perfect for battle. He nickered with excitement, eager to run.

Arthur led the horse outside the castle walls where he would have plenty of room and at this time of day, no audience but for the boys trailing along behind him. The guards at the gate gave them a perplexed look as they passed, but rightfully kept their mouths shut.

Finally satisfied with his location, he mounted and started the horse out at a walk, circling around Percival and Gwaine.  

“That’s nothing special,” Gwaine said. “Show us what he can really do, Princess.”

Arthur ignored the insult, determined to shut Gwaine up by doing just what he’d asked for. He spurred the horse on and rode out to the edge of the field, then dropped the reins and guided the horse with the pressure of his legs alone. Percival was suitable impressed and called for Arthur to come back so they could return the horse to the stable, but Arthur wasn’t done yet. This horse knew lots of commands that the horses he worked with didn’t—all that fancy leg work. He was determined to work out at least one of the commands.

Everything was fine one moment and the next, Arthur was flying across the field at full speed. He wasn’t even sure what he’d done. The horse wasn’t spooked; he was charging. Arthur gathered up the reins, sat deep in the saddle, prepared to bring the horse to an impressively quick halt, but instead, the horse reared, kicking out his front legs as if to knock down an enemy. Arthur held on desperately, clutching as best he could to the animal’s neck and leaning as far forward as he could to stay in the saddle. He had to stay in control. If the animal bolted or fell backward…

Arthur was sure he had everything well in hand until the horse dropped back onto all fours. His right foot came free of the stirrup and the force of the impact with the ground was enough to ruin Arthur’s balance and send him slipping to the side. As he fell, his hand caught on the reins, forcing the animal to turn toward the spot where Arthur was about to land. A shocking pain, far more intense than a simple fall warranted, coursed through his body, and he screamed. He screamed and screamed until he didn’t have any air left in his lungs.

In the quiet that followed, he heard the sound of running and Gwaine yelling, “I’ll get the physician!”

Percival knelt down to his side, looked at Arthur’s lower body and grimaced, lost the color in his face.

Arthur was afraid to look. He couldn’t move his left leg and when his hands instinctively felt for injuries, they came away red with blood. Tears stung at the corners of his eyes.

“Don’t worry, Prince Arthur,” Percival said, unconvincingly. “We’ll get you to Merlin.”

Yes, Merlin could fix everything... Everything except his father’s wrath when he found out what Arthur had done.

“The horse!” Arthur croaked. “Father’s going to kill me if we don’t catch him!”

Percival frowned. “The horse hasn’t moved. He’s right here.” Arthur turned his head and sure enough, the courser stood just to the side, watching him. He should have just let go when the animal reared. He could have slid off the saddle and rolled away. He would have had nothing but scrapes and bruises.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight and refused to cry.

-x-x-

Merlin shook him awake. “Arthur? Can you hear me?”

He opened his eyes, blinked up at the physician. “What’s wrong, Merlin?” His voice was rough, his throat raw, but Arthur was more concerned with the look Merlin was giving him. He’d never seen Merlin so upset. He searched his surroundings for a clue. Why was he in Merlin’s chambers? And what was that horrible ache in his leg?

Merlin bowed his head a moment and everything came rushing back. His left leg had been trampled when he’d fallen from the saddle of his father’s horse. Merlin’s expression wasn’t much better than Percival’s had been. Merlin was always so calm when treating patients. It must be a truly terrible injury to make Merlin look at him like that.

Merlin knelt to the floor beside him, whispered, “Your leg, Arthur… Even if I set it as I normally would, it’s so badly broken, I’m afraid it would never heal properly.”

Arthur summoned up the courage and raised his head to get a look. He only managed a peek, but that was more than enough. His trousers had been cut to expose the injury and though the bone didn’t appear to have broken the skin, there was blood from where the horse hoof had cut into his flesh. And worst of all, his leg had an extra bend above the knee just below the middle of his thigh. He let his head fall back onto the pillow.

“I’m to be a cripple?” Those tears he’d held back before poured out of him with a vengeance. “Father’s going to hate me.” Anything short of perfection was unacceptable to Uther Pendragon.

“Your father could never hate you. He loves you.”

Arthur shook his head. Merlin was just trying to make him feel better.

“No one will respect me anymore, especially when they learn it was my own stupid fault. I should never have taken Father’s horse from the stable.”

“No one would ever think any less of you because of an injury.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Fine. I’ll speak only for myself. I don’t care what anyone else says, not the lords and ladies of the court, not the commoners, not even your father. No matter what happens, I will always be on your side. I will never forsake you. I’ll be here for you to my very last breath. Understand, Arthur? No matter what. I swear it.”

Arthur had seen men make similar pledges before, but always to his father, to the king. No one pledged loyalty to the prince instead. Even that soldier who credited Arthur with saving his life hadn’t gone so far. Merlin was telling him that he didn’t serve the king, he served Arthur, but this wasn’t the standard pledge of loyalty; this was personal. This was something just for the two of them.  

He put his hand atop Merlin’s head, Merlin helpfully tipping his chin down so that Arthur could reach without straining.

“I understand, Merlin, and I accept your vow. I’ll do my best to never disappoint you. I’m honoured to have you.”

A gentle warmth started in his chest and spread out to encompass his whole body. It pulsed through his cheeks and his fingertips. It even managed to dull the pain in his leg for a moment, and he couldn’t help but feel that something important had just happened.

“And you don’t have to worry about your leg, all right?” Merlin said, interrupting Arthur’s train of thought. “I’m going to fix it.”

“But you said—”

“I know. I’m going to need you to drink something for me, okay?”

“I don’t understand.”

Merlin pulled a cup off the table behind Arthur’s head, added something from a small vial, and started muttering the strangest words.

“Merlin? What are you—”

Merlin’s eyes flashed gold. Arthur sucked in a sudden breath. That was magic! Merlin was using _magic! Merlin was a sorcerer!_ He tried to say something, but all that came out was a choked off squeak. 

“Shhh, Arthur. This has to be our secret, okay?”

His thoughts raced. His father said magic was evil, that _all_ sorcerers were _evil_. But… but this was _Merlin!_ Merlin, who had just sworn his loyalty. Merlin, who only wanted to heal Arthur’s injuries. Merlin, who’d always been Arthur’s favourite person. Arthur banished any hesitation he felt. His father was _wrong_ ; magic _could_ be used for good, like in those stories Merlin told him when he was younger. They were going to prove it right now.

Merlin lifted Arthur’s head and set the rim of the cup to his lips. Arthur drank without protest, even though it tasted terrible.

“If you can heal my leg, why do you still look upset? Are you worried I can’t be trusted with your secret? I would never betray you.”

Merlin smiled at him, but it was a thin-lipped smile that didn’t reach all the way to his eyes. “This spell is going to set your leg, but it won’t be quick, and it’s going to hurt.”

“It already hurts.”

“It’s going to hurt even more.” Merlin grabbed something off the table again and offered it to Arthur. “You know what to do with this.”

Arthur nodded and took the strap of leather between his teeth. Merlin brushed his fingers against the skin of Arthur’s damaged leg, and Arthur gritted his teeth, bit down hard as Merlin began reciting another spell. Arthur tried to pay attention to what he was saying but quickly gave up as sharp pain tore through his body, demanding all his attention, consuming everything. It didn’t feel like he was being mended at all. It felt like his bone was breaking into hundreds of tiny jagged pieces. It went on and on. He didn’t know if he was crying or screaming or blubbering like a baby, and it didn’t matter. He couldn’t be bothered with shame or honour. He just wanted the pain to stop. He pushed his head deep into his pillow as if that would allow him to escape.

-x-x-

Arthur didn’t notice at first when the pain finally began to abate. It faded slowly, like the receding tide, but not completely. It took a few minutes to understand why that was. Once his head was sufficiently clear, the answer became obvious. Merlin couldn’t use magic to fully heal his leg. Even if he offered, Arthur wouldn’t let him. Everyone would have heard of the incident by now, his father included. If his leg were to be suddenly healed, the only explanation would be sorcery. His father would call in the witchfinder and the hunt would begin. Uther could be scary when it came to anything remotely resembling magic.

Arthur spit the leather strap out from between his teeth and worked his jaw. The muscles there were sore from clenching so tightly, but it was a lot better than broken teeth.

Merlin patted his shoulder. “The worst of it is over now. You can rest. I have this,” He indicated another cup, “to help you sleep.”

Arthur propped himself up on his elbows to look at his leg. Several beads of sweat rolled down his temple, across his cheek, and dripped onto his already damp shirt. His leg was straight again. The blood, he noticed, was gone as well and his skin bore nothing more than bruises. Merlin must have snuck in a little more healing than he’d told Arthur about. He accepted the cup and took a sip. It tasted even worse than that other stuff.

“You were very brave,” Merlin said, then left him so that he could rest. Arthur finished his medicine and closed his eyes. Sleep came quickly.

Sometime before daybreak, Arthur found himself staring at the ceiling. His leg was a constant dull ache, and he wanted nothing more than to lie perfectly still and go back to sleep, but a familiar pressure told him he needed the chamber pot. He maneuvered himself to the edge of the bed, unsurprised to find that Merlin had wrapped his leg in plaster soaked bandages while he slept. What _was_ surprising was that he’d been moved to Merlin’s personal room. The bed wasn’t any more comfortable than the patient’s bed in the main room, but it was more private here.  

He managed to ease himself onto the floor but then had to slide the pot out from its hiding place under the bed while balancing on one leg and without the ability to bend his left knee. The whole effort took ten times longer than it should, but he was finally able to relieve himself without the embarrassment of calling for help. He celebrated the victory a little too early, and while he was tucking himself back into his smallclothes, lost his balance and fell backward. He landed hard on his bum, jarring his leg and triggering fresh spikes of pain.

He had trouble getting back up on his good leg after that, had to scoot a little closer to the bed so that he could pull himself up with his arms. He climbed into bed and laid flat on his back. His leg throbbed, the pain seeming to pulse with a life of its own.  He couldn’t move without making it worse and no position was comfortable enough for sleep.

Fresh tears began to roll down his cheeks and as hard as he tried, he was unable to suppress a pathetic whimper. He mentally chastised himself. He needed to be tougher than this. The pain wasn’t anything like earlier; he should be able to deal with it. What would his father say?

He tried and tried to forget about it and fall back asleep. After what felt like hours of suffering, he gave in.

“Merlin?” The old man was asleep—he knew from the snores—but he called again and was rewarded by the sound of a creaking bed followed quickly by the thud of clumsy feet on the short run of stairs and the soft clink of the door latch.

“Arthur,” Merlin whispered, by his side now, “why are you awake? You’re supposed to be out for a few more hours yet.”

With Merlin so close, he lost some of his nerve. He wanted to show Merlin how strong he was, but… but Merlin wouldn’t judge him like his father did. “It still hurts, Merlin. Can’t you… give me something?”

“You drank that draught I gave you?”

“Yes.”

“ _All_ of it?”

“Yes!”

“I’m sorry, I don’t have anything more to give you. Not for a few more hours, when that medicine is clear through your system.”

“What about that stuff you gave some of the injured men from the battle last month?”

Merlin pulled up a stool and sat next to the bed. “That’s a very… indelicate medicine. It’s not suitable for someone your age.”  

“I’m strong. I can take it.”

“It’s not to do with strength. It’s a simple matter of weight. If I give you enough to be effective, you might not wake up again.”

“You mean… I could die?”

“And that’s why I can’t give it to you. I’m sorry, Arthur. I can’t risk it.” Merlin sounded genuinely troubled. It made Arthur want to hide his pain more than ever. He didn’t manage. He let out another of those pathetic whimpers.

“Hush now, Arthur. I’m here with you. We’ll try something different, all right?”

Arthur managed a wordless agreement.

Merlin picked up Arthur’s left hand and ran his thumb along Arthur’s knuckles. “Feel this?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I want you to concentrate on this. Focus only on the touch of my hand and the sound of my voice.”

It took a lot of effort. The ache in his leg wanted to distract him from his new task, but he tried his best and after several minutes, he was able to shift his focus.

Merlin started feather-light as he traced a line over the top of each finger, drew shapes on the back of his hand. He pressed little circles into Arthur’s palm with the pad of his thumb, raked his short fingernails against each of Arthur’s callouses. It felt nice and he found himself wishing Merlin would do the same for him every night before bed.

When Merlin spoke again, his deep, soothing voice was even softer than his initial touches. The words were barely intelligible. Arthur would have almost thought that Merlin was using magic again except his eyes never glowed like they had before and Arthur caught enough words to know that Merlin was telling him another story, something about a young peasant, a strange cave, and an ancient prophecy.

Arthur sighed, relaxing. A soft, pleasant tingling broke out across the back of his head.  It ran down his neck and spread across his shoulders. He’d experienced something similar a few times before when one of the servants cut his hair. The sensation now was much more prominent. His eyelids grew heavy.

Outside, it began to rain. The gentle tapping of raindrops against the window only added to the sensation. Arthur closed his eyes and fell back into a peaceful sleep.


	3. Curses and Jealously

It took months for Arthur’s leg to heal enough that he didn’t have to walk around with crutches and even after that, Merlin still gave him a long list of restrictions that were slowly lifted one at a time. All this meant he wasn’t allowed to train like he was supposed to. He had to watch as the knights instructed Gwaine, Percival, and the others. He would sit along the edge of the training field, or have target practice while seated in a chair. He was getting to be fairly decent with throwing knives, but he could feel his sword skills and footwork slipping. His only consolation was that his convalescence spanned through the worst of winter, when less training occurred anyway due to weather.

After training on Arthur’s last day with the stiff plaster bandages, he found a small group of page boys dawdling about in the armoury.

Gwaine nudged Rudd in the side with his elbow. He had a grin on his face that grew broader when he noticed Arthur’s arrival.

“And what about you, Princess?”

Arthur glared at him. He refused to respond to that nickname.

“All right,” Gwaine said, rolling his eyes, “I mean, _Prince Arthur_ , what about you? Who do you like?”

And without thinking, Arthur said, “Merlin.”

Gwaine scoffed. “No, we’re not talking about adults. We’re talking about girls!”

“Oh. Well, I suppose Morgana is all right for a girl.”

Percival joined the conversation. “I thought you said she was like your sister.”

“She is.”

“Ugh!” Gwaine threw his hands up. “You don’t get how this works at all. I mean, who would you like to kiss and hold hands with.”

And Arthur was going to go back to his first answer, because he’d liked it quite a lot when Merlin held his hand the night he’d broken his leg, and if Merlin had bent down to kiss Arthur’s hand when he’d made his pledge of loyalty, like knights sometimes did with his father’s signet ring, Arthur wouldn’t have minded one bit.

Some adults liked kissing on the lips. Maybe that was what Gwaine was talking about. It wasn’t something Arthur saw a lot of. Such displays in public were generally frowned upon. Mostly it was reserved for handfasting ceremonies and young couples too overcome with relief after a safe return from battle to follow standard etiquette. Arthur didn’t want to kiss anyone like that, but apparently saying that he didn’t like anyone wasn’t an acceptable answer either. Maybe Gwaine could tell it was a lie, because the more he thought about it, the more certain Arthur was that not wanting to kiss on the mouth didn’t prove anything, and that his first answer had been the right one. Arthur didn’t care to explain. He ended up naming one of the serving girls just to get Gwaine to shut up about it.

When Arthur saw Merlin later that day to get his bandages off, Merlin said, “Something on your mind? You look deep in thought.”

“Gwaine was asking everyone who they like today. When I told him my answer, he said I was doing it wrong. But I don’t think I was.”

“Arthur,” Merlin said his name slowly, carefully. “Was the person you were thinking of… was it a boy?”

Arthur smiled. Merlin always seemed to know these sorts of things. He was brilliant! Arthur said, “Yes,” then thought about it a little more. “There’s not anything… wrong with that, is there?”

“No.” And Arthur knew he was telling the truth; he answered without hesitation. Merlin sat down beside him. “There’s nothing wrong with liking another boy. Follow your heart, wherever it leads. Most boys like girls, but that doesn’t mean you have to. But…” Merlin paused then, opened his mouth to speak, and said nothing. Something was wrong after all, because he never struggled for words like this.

“What is it?”

“Do be careful, all right? Your father… He would disagree with the advice I’m giving you. Others too.  Don’t feel like you have to share your private feelings with someone just because they ask.”

Arthur nodded and wondered if Merlin already knew he was the one Arthur was thinking of.  

-x-x-

Spring arrived, his eleventh birthday came and went, and Arthur was finally able to get back to training. He poured himself into it, trying to make up for lost time. Gwaine had managed to surpass him in skill while his leg was recovering and he was determined to rectify the situation. Every now and then he’d get a shadow pain stabbing through his leg, but as the year wore on, those became less and less frequent. Merlin called it nerve damage, said it might never heal completely, but he was able to walk just fine, to run, to ride a horse and fight. All the important things. He wasn’t crippled like he deserved to be, didn’t even have a limp.

Between training and Merlin’s promises, he thought of little else, much to Geoffrey’s disappointment. His father was starting to notice too.

“What are you smiling at, Arthur?” his father said one night at dinner.

“Hmm?”

“You’re off in your head. Daydreaming. Is it tomorrow’s hunt you’re looking forward to?”

Arthur was about to take the offered excuse, but his father continued. “Or perhaps you’re looking forward to seeing Lord Godwin’s daughter on the morrow.”

“Father! Why would I be looking forward to seeing _a girl_?”

Uther chuckled, said, “Ah, still a bit too young then, I see. Perhaps in another year or two, you’ll change your mind about girls, Arthur. You might even seek out opportunities to see them on your own.”

“I don’t see why I’d ever do that.” Morgana was more than enough for girlish company for him and she didn’t even play around much with dolls like other girls, choosing instead to play in the woods and practice archery and swords whenever she could get away with it.

“Don’t you think you will be wanting to marry one someday?”

Arthur crinkled his nose. “No, father. I’m quite certain. I have no intention of ever wanting to marry.”

Uther thought his reply quite funny, but Arthur didn’t think it so. He might be young, but he knew his own mind. He’d much rather continue his training and become a strong warrior king. When he was crowned, he’d have a sorcerer on his side too. That would more than make up for the lack of a queen, he was sure.

The next day, Lord Godwin and his daughter arrived amid no small amount of fanfare. Everyone of note was in attendance. Even the newly retired quartermaster managed to make it down from his rooms where he’d taken to spending more and more of his days. His health had been on the decline since Yule, and Arthur had to revise his opinion once again. There was a time when he thought Sir Olwin and Merlin looked about the same age, but Merlin clearly looked the younger now. Maybe it was just Sir Olwin’s illness that made him look older.

The comparison was quite obvious seeing as Merlin was among the crowd gathered as well. This was to be expected. Merlin wasn’t noble, but he did have a decent amount of social standing and it was only appropriate that he attend.

What Arthur hadn’t expected was the woman standing close at his side, smiling up at him. It wasn’t a huge smile, but Merlin returned it. He looked down at her like she was special to him and something ugly stirred up in Arthur’s belly. It was the same sort of look Merlin gave him and he didn’t like that it wasn’t reserved for him alone. It felt silly to be annoyed by such a little thing, but he was a prince; he didn’t have to justify himself to anyone.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew what his father had been getting at with his comments at dinner the previous night, knew that adult men liked the company of women, even if he didn’t fully understand why. Merlin had always been different though, special, and Arthur had never considered—naively he was realizing now—that maybe in some ways Merlin might be perfectly _ordinary_. Arthur frowned at the woman. She was pretty—dark brown hair, pale skin, and petite. Even though she was a grown up and Arthur was still a child, she wouldn’t be able to heft a sword the way he could. She wouldn’t be the ruler of a great kingdom one day either. Arthur was clearly the more impressive of the two of them, so why was Merlin giving her so much attention?

Even as Arthur looked on, Merlin put his arm around her back and gave her a little half hug. Merlin never gave Arthur hugs! Arthur liked hugs too. Or at least, he thought he would, if anyone ever gave him any. When he was little, he’d always wanted his father to hug him goodnight, like Percival said his mother had done. The closest he got was when he used to sit on Merlin’s knee for a story and Merlin would wrap an arm around his waist to hold him steady.

Merlin didn’t tell him stories like that anymore. Arthur missed it. In fact, Arthur rather missed Merlin quite a bit lately. The older he got, the less time he was allowed to himself and that meant fewer visits to the physician’s chambers.

Arthur daydreamed his way through his father’s welcome speech, then did his princely duty and greeted the visiting king and his daughter. After that came the pleasant, but all too short, diversion of the hunt.

At the banquet that night, Arthur indulged in an extra honey cake and drank more than his share of ale. He was only supposed to have a cup owing to his age, but he managed two and could feel the effects, watered down though it was.

Arthur learned that Merlin’s guest had a perfectly dreadful name—Freya—and that she wasn’t much for conversation. She was terribly shy, to the point of rudeness in Arthur’s opinion and he didn’t mind saying so.

After the meal was finished and the adults had begun to imbibe a bit too much in their wine, Merlin approached Arthur at the head of the table. Freya trailed along behind him, peeking out at Arthur from behind the old man.

Arthur’s father had left the table a few minutes before with Lord Godwin. They stood near the far wall in a small circle of other notables talking animatedly, and Arthur wondered that Merlin had waited for the king to leave before approaching with his mystery guest.

Merlin presented himself with a hand on his chest and a passable bow for the sake of those in attendance who might care about that sort of thing. “Prince Arthur, might I—”

“No,” Arthur said, sneering at the girl as best he could. “I haven’t the time at present.” Then he took another swig of his warm ale and picked at the remains of his meal though he was already quite full.

Those within hearing range—a good dozen people—whispered wide-eyed among themselves. Arthur ignored their behaviour.

Merlin shook his head, his smile having disappeared, a look of hurt replacing it. He turned, put his arm around the woman again, and led her back to their seats.

Arthur tried to remain unaffected. He was the one being wronged here. Merlin was meant to be _his_ man. He’d sworn an oath and everything! ~~~~

Arthur stood from his place, and after bidding a terse goodnight to his father and the visiting royalty, stormed his way through the castle to his chambers.

The next morning, the stable hand didn’t try to engage Arthur in conversation like he usually did. No update on the gelding’s health. No comment on the quality of weather for his ride.

At the training grounds, Arthur noticed a couple of page boys snickering behind his back and when he asked Sir Kay to show him how to execute the defensive moves that Sir Madoc and Lucan were practicing, the knight said, “Sure you have time for that right now?” Then he laughed.

When he was finished with his mockery, he said, “Now, now, don’t be like that. You may be the prince but you once told me that you didn’t want any special treatment, isn’t that right?”

After training, Arthur had his servant, a dull boy only a few years older than himself named George, prepare him a bath. Dressed in fresh clothes, he made his way down to the kitchens to filch a snack, though it was near supper already. He rather deserved something special with the way he’d been treated the past two days.

Arthur overheard one of the serving girls say, “Did you see the way Prince Arthur treated Merlin at the banquet last night?”

How dare they gossip about him! He crouched behind a stack of flour bags.

“Oh, I heard. If he were my boy, he’d of had a good smack to the bottom right there!” That was the assistant cook. “And of all the people in the world to be ungrateful to, Merlin should be the last on the list.”

“Why’s that?”

“What? You haven’t heard? You’ve been here how long?”

“Near three years now.”

“Three years and you’ve not heard how Merlin saved Prince Arthur? Thought everyone knew by now.” The woman set her work aside. “You noticed how Merlin doesn’t seem to be getting older?”

“It’s not just that though is it? In the short time I’ve been here, he’s seemed to have a decade or more lost from his features. I thought I was going mad.”

“No, you’re exactly right! When the prince was born, a bitter sorcerer cast a curse that would reverse the boy’s age. Of course, being so young, he would have died within days.”

“And Merlin stopped it?”

“No, he merely deflected it onto himself.”

“Well, that’s not so bad. Merlin isn’t exactly a young man. Maybe it actually extended his life.”

“That’s just it though. We can be fairly certain that it didn’t. I know he doesn’t use magic these days, but…” Arthur had to strain to hear as the assistant dropped her voice to a near whisper. “But he’s a powerful sorcerer. He used to use his magic openly before the war, before Arthur was born. His skills were so strong, well, I suppose maybe they still are, but nevertheless, all the other magic users agreed that with magic as strong as Merlin’s, he’d live for centuries.” 

Arthur wasn’t surprised to learn that Merlin’s magic was powerful. He’d somehow always assumed that it was. What he hadn’t realized was that powerful magic translated into a longer life.  

“If he’s got magic that strong,” the serving girl said, “why doesn’t he just break the curse?”

“He swore to the king he’d not use magic again. Even saving the prince’s life as he did, if Merlin broke his word, Uther would surely have him hunted down and executed. The king thinks he needs to set an example that we can’t resort to magic as an easy answer. And the worst of it is, the older Arthur gets, the faster Merlin’s age appears to reverse. Who knows, the curse might see him dead before Arthur finishes his third decade.”

The women kept talking but Arthur didn’t hear. Merlin was dying; that’s what they were saying. Slowly, but surely, and all because of Arthur. If what the cook said was true, Merlin might never even see him take the throne. Arthur blinked as a tear rolled down his cheek. He clenched his fists tight. Merlin couldn’t die like that, not because of him. He’d always known that there would be men who would have to die for him. Soldiers, knights, guards. He was resigned to that. But not Merlin.

Arthur snuck out into the hall and bolted to Merlin’s chambers, fighting desperately along the way to stop the tears.

“Merlin! Merlin!” He yanked the door open and skidded to a halt. “Merlin!”

There the man was, and Arthur had no doubt that what the woman had said was true about Merlin’s condition. He’d thought about it before, but dismissed the oddity, thinking it was just his mind playing tricks. Merlin really was growing younger. It made sense now. 

He sniffed. Merlin turned from his table where he was having an early dinner with that woman, that _Freya_. She dabbed her mouth with a cloth and rose from the table. “I’ll give you two a few minutes.” She curtsied toward Arthur with her head bowed. “My lord.” And she went out into the hall, shutting the door on her way.

“What’s this about Arthur? You’ve been very rude lately. To me and to my guest as well.”

“I’m sorry,” he blubbered, then walked over and grabbed hold of the man, forcing a hug on the physician. He could feel the moment Merlin lost his anger. His whole body relaxed, and he brought his hands round to Arthur’s back and returned the hug.

“All right now, I forgive you. No need to overdo.” Merlin loosened his hold, signaling Arthur to do the same. He held on tighter.

“You can’t die. Please!”

“What?”

“I heard all about it today. About the curse. It’s killing you and it’s my fault. You have to _do_ something, Merlin!”

Merlin disentangled him and pushed Arthur away, looked him in the eye.

“Listen to me. There’s no curse. I’m not going to die. Not because of this.”

“But you really are getting younger. I can see it. When I was little and I’d sit on your knee and listen to your stories, you had a long white beard and wrinkles all over. Now you don’t look all that much older than Father.”

“I’m going to tell you a secret, okay? But you have to promise not to tell a soul. Not Morgana or Percival or Gwaine, and certainly not your father.”

Arthur sniffed, stopped crying. “Like when you set my leg?”

Merlin nodded. “If your father finds out, I’d have to leave or face execution, and you don’t want to put anyone else in the position of needing to keep the secret either, so it has to stay between you and me.”

“I swear I won’t tell anyone.”

“All right then. It’s just as I told you. There is no curse.”

“But—”

“Ah! Listen! I cast this spell on myself.”

Arthur cocked his head to the side, wrinkled his brow. “I don’t understand.” What Merlin was suggesting, it was treason. This wasn’t like when he’d set Arthur’s leg and they just hadn’t told anyone. Merlin had made up the story about a sorcerer attacking him when he was a baby. “You… lied.”

“Yes.”

“To my father!”

“I did. And I will continue to do so in order that I might remain here.”

“Do you ever lie to _me_?”

“Only if I have to.”

“What does that mean?”

“Everything I do is to protect you, Arthur. That’s why I cast this spell in the first place. I needed to be able to stay near you and young men, they tend to shun the company of the very old.”

“I don’t care how old you are!”

Merlin smiled. “Yes, I see that now, but there is another reason. When you are king, you’ll face many enemies.  To protect you from them, I’ll need to be able to keep up with you, not just magically, but physically too. You needn’t worry about the spell. It’ll run its course eventually and I’ll start aging normally again.”

Arthur thought this through. Merlin did all this for him… so they could stand together in the future. “You would come into battle with me? But you’re a physician!”

“Yes. And I’m a sorcerer too. I’ll do whatever is needed to keep you safe.”

Arthur tried to picture it, their future. He imagined himself tall and muscular, like Sir Kay, clad in full armour and holding a longsword, not the short arming sword he practiced with in training. He imagined looking out on a field of battle, Merlin standing to his right… And realized there was something wrong with his mental image. The Merlin in his daydream was the exact image of the man in front of him now, not a younger version. He tried to guess what Merlin had looked like when he was younger and came up short. He was missing a vital piece of information.

“What colour was your hair before it went grey?” Merlin gave him an appraising look, and Arthur got the distinct feeling that he’d said something strange. “I’m trying to imagine how you’ll look in a few more years. Will it be light, like mine?”

“No,” Merlin said. “It was dark. A very dark brown.”

Arthur laughed. “It’s hard to imagine you with dark hair.” Another thought hit him. “Does all this mean that one day we’ll be the same age?”

Merlin chuckled. “We’ll never be the same age. I’ll always be 80 years your senior.”

“But there might be a time when we’ll look the same age.”

“Yes, I suppose there might.”

Arthur smiled. “And you’ll start aging again someday?”

“Yes.”

“Then we might grow old together, in a way.”

“We might.”

“I’d like that.”

“You’re a good boy Arthur. One day, you’ll be a great king.”

Arthur beamed.

“But you do have to learn some manners first.”

Arthur scowled.

“Maybe now you’ll let me introduce my guest? She means a great deal to me.”

He still didn’t like it, but the knowledge of what Merlin was doing for him, for their future, kept him from returning to his earlier petulance. He sighed, then summoned up his best gentlemanly tone. “It would be my honour.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Merlin said, copying his formal manner.

Merlin stepped out into the hall and a few minutes later, he returned with Freya.

“Prince Arthur, might I introduce to you, my grandniece, Freya.

The woman curtsied again, looked up at him just barely.

“Niece?”

“Yes. Will’s only granddaughter.” Merlin had mentioned his half-brother before, but never a niece.

Arthur nearly laughed with relief. She was family! She wasn’t… He suddenly wanted to impress her very much.

“It’s my pleasure to meet you Freya. I apologize for my behaviour before. I sometimes forget my manners.”

“Please do not fret, Your Highness. I know how boys can be sometimes. I have a son myself. He’s only a few years younger than you. In fact, I was just speaking with Uncle Merlin about bringing my boy to Camelot. There aren’t many opportunities for him in our small village and in the winter, food is scarce.”

And that was how, a few months later, after the harvest was complete but before the harsh weather of winter had set in, Gaius, Merlin’s great-grandnephew, came to share Merlin’s quarters and serve as his apprentice.

Gaius followed Merlin around everywhere. Arthur tried not to be jealous, reminded himself that Merlin was teaching the boy a trade, like Sir Kay was doing for him. It wasn’t as if Merlin were replacing Arthur. It was hard to remember that when he stopped for a visit and found Merlin telling the boy a story, like he used to do for Arthur.

Later, when Arthur complained about how little time they got to spend together, Merlin only said, “That’s as it should be. Boys your age should spend time with their peers, not an old man like me.”

But Merlin wasn’t always going to be an old man, not for any practical purpose anyway, and Arthur dreamed of their future together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After revising my writing schedule, this chapter is being posted earlier than expected. Most subsequent chapters will be posted every 4 weeks, so look for Chapter 4 in mid-May. ^_^ Thanks for reading!


	4. Daydreams and Checkups

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur struggles with the awkwardness of puberty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday Hélène! I'm a bit nervous about this chapter, but hopefully you like it!

Arthur lay in bed on his side, knees bent and drawn up a little. Gwaine had bested him at training that morning. That happened every now and then, and he could have handled it just fine, but his father had felt the need to discuss the matter with him and when he did…

“You’re the prince, Arthur, one day to be king, but no one will ever respect you if you can’t even defeat a 13-year-old page boy in practice.” Arthur was still only 12. His birthday wasn’t for a few more weeks. He didn’t mention that fact, knew it wouldn’t go over well. His father kept on and eventually made clear that he knew another little tidbit about his interactions with Gwaine. “This is the boy you let get away with insulting you. Maybe the lad is right and I should start calling you Princess Arthur as well!”

Arthur had barely managed to contain himself, biting off a terse request to leave before stomping back down to the training fields, and spending the remainder of the daylight hours working on his own. He was exhausted now and sore, but the physical aches were nothing compared to the echo of “princess” coming from his father’s lips.

Whenever he needed soothing, he liked to think about the time he’d hurt his leg. Not only was the pain never as bad as that, but he could conjure up the recollection of Merlin stroking his hand, and that helped him feel better. He closed his eyes, imagined Merlin sitting on a stool beside his bed, and ghosted his fingers over the back of his hand to recreate the experience as best he could. It wasn’t enough tonight. Maybe he’d relied on the memory too often and now it was nearly all used up, losing its power.

He rolled onto his back, put a hand down the front of his trousers, and touched himself there instead. In his mind’s eye, Merlin was still sitting there next to him, his fingertips trailing across the back of Arthur’s wrist, the tight skin over his knuckles.

Arthur used his free hand to fold down the blankets and lower his smallclothes, exposing himself to the open air. He closed his eyes. This was a brilliant idea. Why hadn’t he thought of this before?

If Merlin really were here, maybe he would even lean down and kiss Arthur on his lips like sweethearts do. Merlin had never kissed him before. Not even on the cheek or the forehead. Arthur didn’t see why not. His nurse had done that often enough when he was little, had put her hands on either side of his face and leaned down to kiss the crown of his head.

Arthur would kiss Merlin back, not just on the lips. He’d want to kiss his hands and cheeks and forehead too.

His breathing came in short puffs.

His hand moved faster.

This was far from the first time Arthur touched himself in this way. It always felt good, but every other time, he’d grown bored after a while and stopped. He was anything but bored now.

His heart raced. This felt even better than eating his favourite sweets. Better than anything. He could feel something… welling up inside him and for an instant, it almost felt like he might need the chamber pot, but the moment passed without incident.

His whole body relaxed while he caught his breath. Now that he could think about it a bit more rationally, he realized something was wrong. It was amazing what could be learned by listening to the stable masters and local farmers; animal husbandry was far from the taboo topic that human relations were, and he was sure that he was supposed to have spilled his seed just now. Maybe Arthur was defective. It was probably because he was growing wrong. He hung a bit lower on one side than the other, and his penis was getting longer, but not any thicker. He was going to grow up to be unbalanced and stick thin—the laughing stock of Camelot.

Arthur slept through to sunrise. When he woke, there was another problem. He felt an instant dread as he recognized the feeling of wetness at his crotch. His cheeks flushed with shame. He was much too old for bed wetting.

He pulled the covers and his clothes back, but instead of the large mess of clear damp he expected, there was just a small patch of sticky fluid. He instantly recognized what it was, but had no explanation for why this happened while he slept instead of before bed when he touched himself. He was only sure of one thing: there was _definitely_ something wrong with him.

-x-x-

Every year on Arthur’s birthday, he would see Merlin in his official capacity for an annual physical, and so, a few weeks later on his thirteenth birthday, he found himself alone with Merlin.

He’d always liked Merlin, but now that he’d started thinking about Merlin kissing him, about kissing Merlin in return, he didn’t know how to act in front of him. Arthur didn’t want Merlin thinking he was weird, but every time he opened his mouth, he said something foolish. And that was without accounting for the ridiculous swings in the pitch of his voice.

Merlin always seemed to know what was on Arthur’s mind, but he didn’t act like anything was amiss. He went about the same routine as always. He thumbed at Arthur’s eyelids and peered into his eyes, asked him to look up, down, and side to side, for which Arthur was grateful because he couldn’t hold Merlin’s gaze for long.

Merlin asked him to open his mouth wide so he could take an inventory of the state of Arthur’s teeth. He felt at Arthur’s neck and took a measuring tape around his waist, had him stand against the wall to measure his height. Arthur completed a simple series of calisthenics to test the function of his joints and even had to take off his boots so that Merlin could make sure his feet were growing properly.  

There were lots of questions—about how he was feeling, if he ever felt any pain from his training, or if any foods upset his stomach.

The part he’d been looking forward to the most was when he had to take off his sword belt and lay down. Merlin stood at his left side, folded up his shirt, and eyed him critically for a moment before pressing the pads of his fingers against his belly, feeling his organs. In years past, he would always tell Arthur what he was feeling. Something like, ‘this here is the edge of your liver,’ but this time, Merlin asked Arthur to do the talking.

“You still remember the organ’s names, don’t you?”

Arthur nearly rolled his eyes. He answered all Merlin’s questions with ease. So much ease in fact, that he could let his mind wander. He imagined a turn to the normal exam, imagined Merlin telling him that he needed to examine his development further down, imagined pulling down his smallclothes and Merlin’s long fingers touching his private places. That was a big mistake. Before long, there was proof of his wayward thoughts and when Merlin finished the abdominal exam, he moved on to put his ear to Arthur’s chest to listen to his heart and breathing. Of course, he did it with his right ear so that he was looking down the line of Arthur’s body. With Arthur’s shirt rucked up by his armpits, there was no way Merlin wouldn’t notice the bulge in Arthur’s trousers.

His face flushed. Merlin carried on, pretending nothing was wrong. “Everything sounds fine. You can put your shirt down now.”

Arthur sprang up to a sitting position so that he could hide his body’s eagerness with his hands in his lap.

Merlin was acting so normal, Arthur almost thought that he actually hadn’t noticed—that he’d been too focused on listening to Arthur’s heart—but then Merlin said, “At your age, your body starts changing rather quickly.”

Arthur cringed.

“You might think some of those changes are strange or embarrassing. Your body might even act on its own sometimes and while there’s not much you can do to stop it, I don’t want you to worry or feel ashamed. All these things are perfectly natural. If you have any questions or concerns, you’ll let me know, right?”

“You think I’m normal?”

Merlin smiled. “Well, I don’t quite know about _that_. I think you’re a very special boy with an incredible future ahead of you, but as for your physical development, I _know_ you are normal. I just completed your physical, didn’t I? I’d know if there were something wrong.”

But Merlin wouldn’t know. Not about his private problems.

He looked to the side, too embarrassed to look Merlin in the eye. “You didn’t look everywhere.” He glanced down at his crotch.

Merlin had the audacity to let out a chuckle. “I don’t think it’s necessary for me to exam you there. Not unless there’s an actual problem.”

“But there is!” And he told Merlin in a pathetic jumble of words about how he was lopsided.

Merlin was unfazed. “It’s the left one that’s lower. Am I right?”

Arthur looked up. “How did you know?” How could he _possibly_ know that?

“That’s how most men are.”

Arthur didn’t believe it. Merlin was just saying that to make him feel better.

“I told you. You are perfectly healthy.”

Arthur scrunched his brow. “Yours is like that, too?” It was almost an accusation.

“Well, no. I’m the other way round, but that’s normal as well, just not quite as common.”

He knew better than to ask, but he kind of… wanted to see it. He let the thought go. If Merlin wasn’t worried about his body, even though he wasn’t in the majority, Arthur was certain that he was okay too.

“Is there anything else that you’re worried about? A lot of boys your age think their penis is too small, but you’re still growing, so don’t worry about that either.”

Arthur felt certain his cheeks couldn’t get any redder so while they were already on the topic, he went ahead and told Merlin about how he’d released his seed while he was asleep.

“That happens to boys your age,” Merlin said. “It means you’re growing up. You should probably expect it to happen again. As you get older, it will become less frequent and might stop altogether. It’s nothing to worry about. If it really bothers you, some men think that it helps if they stimulate a release before they go to sleep. You could try that if you want and see if it works for you. Do you know what I mean?”

“My old nurse told me it was wrong to touch myself like that.” Not that he’d ever listened to her.

“She always was a bit superstitious. Best not to take everything she told you too seriously. Most people do it, men and women. It won’t hurt you.”

“Really?”

Merlin nodded.

“And you… do that too?”

Merlin hesitated a second. “Sometimes.” He was quick to move the conversation on. “Like I told you, there is absolutely nothing wrong with your development.”

There was more that Arthur wanted to talk about, but this was enough for today.

He felt so much more confident about his body that a few months later when he was in the stables with some of the page boys and Gwaine said, “Let’s all compare our cocks. I bet I’m the biggest!” Arthur allowed himself to be roped in with little convincing.  He was curious after all about how he measured up.

Of the five of them, Percival, flushing bright red with embarrassment, was easily the most mature, regardless of what method was used to judge. Arthur stared for longer than was appropriate, had to force himself to look away. It was a lot more impressive than his own body and as the other boys chattered on, Arthur learned one little detail that made it all the more intriguing—Percival hung lower on his right side, like Merlin. 

Unbidden, Arthur’s brain conjured up an image of what Merlin might have looked like when he was Arthur’s age—dark hair in need of a trim, ears a little too big for his face, and a wide grin that made Arthur want to smile just thinking about it. He imagined that younger Merlin here, standing in their little circle, belt off, trousers unlaced and pushed aside just enough for a peek. Since Merlin promised he wasn’t in any danger from his age reversal spell, Arthur wished he’d just hurry up and meet Arthur where he was. Maybe then, these fluttery feelings in the pit of his stomach would go away.


	5. An Educational Experience

At fourteen, those boys who’d successfully completed their training as a page advanced to the role of squire. Since Arthur was prince, he had never officially been a page at all and so wasn’t really a squire either, but just like Gwaine ahead of him and Percival shortly after, Arthur was given more responsibility after his fourteenth birthday. More intense training too.

Every other summer, Camelot held a grand two-day tournament and some of the older squires, those close to achieving knighthood, were allowed to compete—though usually only in the less prestigious events. For these lucky few, it was a reward for good service and in many cases, their first real chance to prove themselves.

Being 18, Lucan, who was still apprenticed to Sir Madoc, had a few years before his training for knighthood was complete. Even so, Sir Madoc had given his blessing for the squire to participate in the archery competition, and Sir Kay had asked that Arthur help Lucan as needed. That included carrying his bow and quiver and retrieving arrows after each round of shots was complete.

Arthur had no complaints about the arrangement. He could hardly get a better view of the action and serving in this manner was never a lowly task for a boy of upper society. It was a chance to learn and observe, and Arthur was glad to take it.

The archery competition was scheduled for the morning session on the first day. It would be followed by the preliminary rounds of jousting in the afternoon and the playacting in the evening. The second day was reserved for the jousting finals and the melee.

When Arthur arrived on the field, he found Gwaine and Rudd manning the scoring table. Before the contest began, he jogged over to have a laugh at Gwaine’s expense. “You being punished for something, Gwaine?” Arthur said. “Sir Ector catch you gambling again?”

Gwaine narrowed his eyes. “No, why?”

“I’m just wondering why you would be selected for this particular task, that’s all. Everyone knows your arithmetic is severely lacking. I feel sorry for poor Rudd here. He’s going to have to pick up your slack.”

Gwaine scowled. “I can add sums in my head just fine! It’s division that doesn’t agree with me.”

“Hmmm, I heard all about that—how Sir Ector divided you from your cards and dice!” Arthur laughed and he caught Rudd suppressing a chuckle as well.

Gwaine looked ready to retort, but a trumpet sounded, calling the archery contest to a start, and Arthur had to be off to attend Lucan.

Arthur didn’t know Lucan well. Their age gap was enough that they only ever interacted on a practical basis, never on purely social terms. He was soft spoken and slender, though he had no trouble pulling back the string of his longbow. Arthur gave it a test. The tension was too much for him to pull the sting all the way to his cheek. The bow he practiced with was both smaller and easier to draw. Maybe if he asked, Kay would let him start practicing with the heavier bows now that he was of age with the squires.

There were 16 men in the archery competition. Some were from Camelot, others from outlying kingdoms. One man had even crossed the Great Seas of Meredoc from Eire to be here. Notably absent was a representative from Mercia. Tensions between the two kingdoms still hadn’t died down after Bayard’s failed siege attempt four years ago. Enmity like that could go on for generations. That’s what Geoffrey said anyway.

Arthur looked down the field where the targets were already set up. Each one was freshly painted with a yellow circle at the center surrounded by progressively larger rings of red, blue, black, and white to denote the scoring zones. Although each competitor had their own target, only two men would be shooting at the same time, giving the crowd a reasonable chance to gauge the skill of each archer.  At the end of each round, the two archers with the lowest scores would be eliminated, the target would be moved back five paces and the process would begin again until there was a single winner. ~~~~

The first of the contenders lined up as Arthur fell in beside Lucan. Lucan offered Arthur a bow. “I thank you, my lord, for assisting me today. The help is greatly appreciated. I hope to do Camelot proud.”

Such thanks weren’t needed, but Arthur appreciated it all the same.

“I’m sure you will do just that,” Arthur said, using his formal tone.

Lucan took an audible breath and held it. He closed his eyes a few seconds before exhaling and looking over to the edge of the seating where Sir Madoc stood. The knight was one of the oldest still serving the crown in a knight’s full capacity. He had a head of white and grey hair with a well-trimmed beard to match. He gave Lucan a single nod and that seemed to do more to calm the squire’s nerves than his deep breathing exercises.

The archers in the first two groups shot well and soon it was Lucan’s turn. He stepped up to his place, a line dusted onto the ground with chalk. The man shooting beside him was Sir Bruin, a heavily muscled knight that was impressively dexterous for one so large. He pulled the string back as if it required no effort. With as thin as Lucan was, Arthur wondered if his muscles wouldn’t be trembling by the end of the match—assuming he made it that far.

Lucan’s first arrow hit the red zone, earning him seven points. Sir Bruin hit the center yellow circle, earning him the highest score for a single arrow, a nine. Arthur looked out to the crowd. There wasn’t anything more he could do to help Lucan at the moment, and it was early yet in the match. As long as he wasn’t in the bottom two, he’d advance to the next round. Arthur wasn’t worried. He’d seen Lucan shoot before, knew the man was good. He’d watched him specifically in practice, trying to pick up tips on technique.

Sir Madoc watched the match intently, even though he should be having a page boy or a substitute squire dress him in his armour for the joust.

Arthur’s father only glanced at the field on occasion. He spent most of his time either doting on Morgana, who sat next to him in the royal box, or speaking with the lords who no doubt came to offer their compliments on the splendor of the king’s opening speech. For her part, Morgana watched the field with open interest, but still managed to yawn every few minutes. She’d been doing that a lot lately. At dinner, at court, even when she joined Arthur for a walk through the lower town, she always seemed to be tired. Maybe he should recommend that she speak with Merlin, see if there was anything he could give her to improve the quality of her sleep.

Arthur scanned the crowd for the physician. Merlin had never been terribly fond of tournaments, though Arthur couldn’t see what possible objection he could have to archery, seeing as there was little chance of anyone getting hurt. He found the man situated beside the stands in the walkway where knights would ride in on their horses for the joust and melee. That side of the stands was closer to Merlin’s chambers, so Arthur supposed that made sense. Merlin caught him looking and smiled before politely inclining his head to Arthur. Arthur grinned back at him.

The excitement of the tournament was impossible to quell. One day he’d be competing here in front of the crowd. He was determined to work hard enough to earn a place in the selection before he was 21. As prince, he didn’t have to follow the same rules of entry as the regular squires, but he didn’t want a place purely because of his rank; he wanted to earn it. Not in the archery, but in the real fighting.

Arthur looked back to the targets. Lucan had finished his round with a score of 23. Sir Bruin had the same. Arthur ran up to the target to retrieve Lucan’s arrows and returned them to the quiver, but not before checking the fletching on each one to make sure it was still in perfect shape.

The crowd cheered each nine shot, applauded at the sevens, and let out groans of disappointment at anything less. At the end of the first round, the bottom two contender were eliminated—a knight from Northumbria and the only other squire to have made it into the competition. The knight threw his bow to the ground and stalked off the field. The squire hung his head low and went over to tend his knight who was also competing in the archery.

The targets were moved back and the process was repeated, this time with only 14 competitors. Lucan earned 25 points in his second round. It was a solid run and Arthur noticed the man nodding to himself to raise his confidence.

The competition continued in that fashion. Lucan did well but hadn’t distinguished himself from the field. By the time there were only four men left, the target was 50 paces away and the contestants’ scores started to drop. Lucan hit his first three of the contest and frowned deeply at his work. He looked to Madoc, who put a finger to his chin and tipped his head back just a touch. Lucan smiled and managed to finish his round with a nine, which at that distance was becoming a rare thing. It was enough to move him on to the final round.

Lucan’s only remaining competition was a knight from far-off Bernicia. That made the squire the crowd favourite since he was competing in the name of Camelot. The people called his name and waved their red and gold flags with more enthusiasm than before.

Lucan didn’t smile at the attention; he looked deadly serious. Before the round started, Sir Madoc came over and placed a hand on his shoulder, leaned in to whisper advice into Lucan’s ear. Arthur couldn’t hear what was said, but Lucan looked over to his competitor, looked at his target, at his hands, nodded.

Another knight, already dressed in his armour for the joust came over to talk with Madoc, but Madoc waved the man off. As the man left, he laughed to himself, looked over to Lucan and shook his head.

The Bernicaian shot first and scored a nine, his arrow hitting the target just slightly off center. The crowd erupted in excitement but hushed themselves quickly when Lucan raised his bow. As Arthur had predicted, the squire’s arm trembled with the exertion of firing so many shots in such a short amount of time, but he looked over to Madoc and the trembles subsided. He focused his attention back to his target and loosed. The arrow hit three quarters of the way into the red zone. At the scoring table, Rudd put Lucan’s score at seven. Both men landed arrows in the red zone on their second shot, leaving Lucan behind by two points. The Bernicaian ended his effort with another seven, which kept Lucan in the running. If the knight had hit another nine, there would be no way for Lucan to win. Even now, his chances were slim. The best outcome would be for Lucan to score a nine with his last arrow, giving both archers a total of 23 points for the final round. To break the tie, it would come down to who had an arrow closer to dead center, and the knight’s first arrow of the round was already closer to center than could reasonably be expected at this distance.

Arthur’s shoulders sagged. He’d really got himself caught up in rooting for Lucan, and now the reality of the impending loss was sinking in. He tried to talk some sense into himself. It wasn’t as if he were the one about to lose. Logic didn’t help his declining mood.

Lucan remained focused on his target, no glances off to Sir Madoc this time. He pulled the string back to his cheek, and in a surge of unrealistic hope, Arthur thought for sure that he was going to let the string go and score well, but Lucan relaxed his arm without firing. He rolled his shoulders. Blinked rapidly and puffed out several quick breaths. He was more nervous than Arthur had ever seen him. Whispers ran through the crowd.

Lucan retook his position, pulled the string back and without taking more than a brief moment to aim, he fired. The crowd went wild. Arthur couldn’t tell if the cheering was out of excitement or disappointment. He was almost afraid to look at the target, but when he did, he found that the arrow had landed perfectly in the center of the middle ring. An undisputable win.

Lucan smiled ear to ear and Sir Madoc rushed him, threw his arms around his apprentice, and lifted him off the ground laughing. “That’s my boy!” He set Lucan down, patted his cheek. “I told you, didn’t I? I said you could win this!”

Lucan bowed his head. “I owe it all to you.”

“Nonsense! You’ve worked hard for this. You’ve earned your reward.”

Twenty-five gold piece was a large reward for any man, but instead of letting the excitement of the win overtake him, Lucan cast his eyes toward the ground, his cheeks pinking up with embarrassment. Sir Madoc only made matter worse by leaning in to speak to Lucan with private words. “Now come on,” Madoc said as he pulled away. “The joust starts in thirty minutes so we haven’t much time.”

Arthur ran down the field to retrieve Lucan’s arrows. By the time he returned, Madoc and Lucan were already out of view, no doubt off to the tents so that Lucan could help Madoc prepare for the joust. He still needed to be dressed in his plate after all.

Arthur put the arrows back in Lucan’s quiver then followed along so that he could return the champion’s property. Sir Kay pulled him aside.

“Leave that for now, Prince Arthur.”

When Kay turned his back, Arthur started across the field toward the tents anyway. He didn’t want to miss a minute of the jousting; he even wanted to watch the warmups. Despite all that, Arthur stopped to talk with Merlin on his way off the tournament field.

“Did you see that, Merlin? Lucan was amazing. Winning a competition at 18! Next tournament, that’s going to be me.”

“Next tournament you’ll still only be 16.”

“I’ll be the youngest champion on record!”

Merlin chucked.

“Don’t laugh. I can do it. I know I can. I work hard every single day. You watch. You’ll be impressed.”

Merlin smiled down at him though Arthur was gaining quickly in height lately. By the next tournament, they’d likely be close in height; Arthur would nearly be a man by then.

“I don’t doubt you for a moment, my lord,” Merlin said—though when he said _my lord_ , Arthur got the distinct feeling that Merlin was still having a little laugh at him.

Arthur gritted his teeth. When Merlin talked about their future, he was always completely serious, maybe even a little reverent. That time was coming soon. Arthur could feel it and he couldn’t wait. To have Merlin stand at his side like he’d promised, he wanted that even more than he wanted a tourney title.

“As well you shouldn’t,” Arthur said, his tone a little too revealing.

Merlin lowered himself to one knee so that he had to look up at Arthur instead of the other way round. “I’m sorry for teasing you, Arthur. You know I believe in you. I look forward to watching you compete.”

This was more to Arthur’s liking. Inwardly, he forgave Merlin’s behaviour. He might tease Arthur, but it was never meant to be hurtful. “I won’t disappoint you.” When Merlin smiled at him again, Arthur couldn’t help smiling back.

Merlin’s skin was now cleared of all his deep wrinkles and as he’d said, his hair was becoming peppered with dark strands. He didn’t look old so much as he looked mature and distinguished. Maybe even handsome. By the time they caught up with each other… Arthur’s gaze flickered to Merlin’s lips and he forced himself to look away before Merlin noticed.

Out on the field, the servants had finished changing over the archery targets for the wooden divider railing for the joust.

“Ah!” Arthur said, realizing he’d spent more time talking with Merlin than he’d intended. “I’m going to miss the warmups if I don’t leave now. I have to get this,” he raised his hand with the quiver, “back to Lucan.”

“Off you go then,” Merlin said. “If you see Sir Madoc on your way, tell him I said not to damage any of his opponents too badly. I don’t want to be carting anyone off the field on a litter.”

Arthur laughed. Of course Merlin would be thinking like that instead of focusing on the skill of the warriors or the excitement of the contest. He bid Merlin farewell and headed for Sir Madoc’s tent at a jog.

As Arthur neared the tent, he heard a strange sound, like Sir Madoc was in pain or perhaps exerting himself to excess like he did when he was deep in training with his sword—a guttural grunting. Arthur slowed even further, peeked into the narrow gap between the tent’s door flap and the main canvas.

What he saw was nothing he’d ever seen before. Gwaine had talked of such a thing, had even given it a name, but Arthur had hardly believed him. It was difficult to believe anything Gwaine said sometimes, even more so when it was something as peculiar as this.

Sir Madoc stood close behind Lucan, who grasped desperately to the tent’s center support pole, the fabric of the squire’s trousers pooling about his ankles. Sir Madoc’s trousers must have been open in the front as well, because though they weren’t drooping like Lucan’s, it was clear to Arthur that the two men were joined in a physical union—buggery, Gwaine had called it.

When Gwaine described it, this act hadn’t sounded the least bit pleasant. Other things Gwaine had talked about, like having a partner mouth and suck at your manhood, Arthur thought he might understand. But this… who would want such a thing? It sounded like a complete disaster, and yet, here Lucan was, welcoming the intrusion.

“Ahh,” the squire gasped, “Madoc, please. I need—”

Madoc held one hand to Lucan’s hip and worked his other against his squire’s cock, thrust his hips in a rhythm to match his grunting. Arthur looked on, mesmerized, knowing he needed to turn away but too shocked to do so. Madoc picked up his pace until at last he stilled with a deep, satisfied groan. Arthur thought it was over, but the knight dropped to his knees, his rapidly softening manhood dangling out in the open air for Arthur to see. Madoc turned Lucan round, took his apprentice’s straining cock into his mouth, and reached a hand back behind the squire to finger at the place he’d so recently vacated.

“Madoc!” Lucan said, clearly not himself. He could barely stand. He groped behind him with one hand for the tent’s support pole to steady himself while he buried the other in Madoc’s white and grey hair.

There was a sloppy popping sound as Madoc sucked his way off Lucan’s cock. “Come on now, my plum,” the knight said, his voice far more gentle than Arthur had ever heard it, “have your reward in my mouth like I promised. You deserve it.” And Madoc went back to his work with determination.

Arthur finally managed to get his back turned. He definitely shouldn’t be seeing this.

“Gods, Madoc! Ah!”

He shouldn’t be _hearing_ it either. He set off back toward the tournament fields. He didn’t want to miss the warmups after all, and yet, they suddenly weren’t nearly so interesting as he’d thought. 

Arthur tried to pay attention to the joust, really he did. _Watch their posture,_ he scolded himself. _Watch how the winners control their horse. See the mistakes made by the losers._ He repeated his objectives over and over, but the preliminary rounds came and went and Arthur couldn’t think of a single thing he’d learned about jousting.

At the end of the first day, Uther awarded Lucan his prize at a banquet held to honour his success and to wish good luck to those competing the next day. Lucan sat next to Morgana at the lead table and Arthur watched as she piled on the compliments, even going so far as to lay her hand on Lucan’s arm. Lucan tried to subtly brush aside her attention. Sir Madoc, seated at the other end of the hall, tried to avoid looking, but couldn’t quite manage altogether. He took a drink of his wine every time he caught a glimpse.

Lucan could hardly dismiss her outright. She was the king’s ward, after all, and everyone knew she wasn’t seeking his affections. She was just playing the good hostess.

After dinner, a sizable portion of the attendees excused themselves to their chambers for their first sleep. It was early yet, but there was still a whole day of competition left in the morning. Arthur didn’t stay up much later either. He didn’t have to help Sir Kay until the melee in the afternoon, but as the archery champion, Lucan was obligated to stay late into the night, Sir Madoc clearly wasn’t leaving until Lucan did, and Arthur was growing weary of watching their longing. It was just one banquet after all; they could do whatever they liked after it was over. Not everyone had the luxury of being with the person they wanted.

George was already waiting in his chambers and helped him change into his bedclothes. Arthur fell onto his bed, suddenly feeling more exhausted than he had a right to.

“That will be all for the night, George.”

The boy bowed, bid him a good night, and left Arthur in peace. He was asleep in minutes.

When Arthur awoke from his first sleep of the night, he stretched out his arms and legs, considered getting up. Midwives claimed that the time between sleeps was the best for conception. Arthur’s father said that the hour or two between sleeps was the most productive time for problem solving. Arthur usually grabbed a book and read by the fire until sleep came over him again. He had to do something. The night was too long to sleep through all in one go. He’d never understood how some people managed it.

Arthur didn’t follow his usual schedule. His curiosity had been piqued and it was hard to stop thinking about it now he was awake. He reached a hand down his front and when his blood had been redirected and his hips started to move on their own, he rolled onto his side, probed a single finger back behind him. He settled down, concentrated. He had no trouble finding what he was looking for, but the dry rub of his finger against a place that never received such a touch was not what he’d been hoping for. Watching Madoc with Lucan, it had seemed easy, natural. What he was doing now was neither of those things.

Arthur thought it over and maybe the time between sleeps was good for problem solving, because he knew what to do. He climbed out of bed into the chill night air and jogged over to the set of cabinets on the wall behind his table. His sword leaned against the wall next to the piece of furniture and inside, George kept the oil he used to polish Arthur’s armour.

He uncorked the vial and brought it up to his nose. The smell brought to mind countless hours of hard work on the training field. That didn’t bother him. If anything, it set him even more on edge. He got back into bed, coated one finger in the oil, repositioned himself on his side, and tried again. It didn’t feel unpleasant like he’d thought from Gwaine’s explanations, but neither did if feel particularly good. It was just… different. A little strange. It was the pressure on his finger that drew his attention more than anything. Still, Arthur was never one for giving up so he played around, exploring. After a few minutes, he’d grown rather bored and started working his free hand against his front again.

He was just getting back into the swing of things, hips itching to thrust, breath catching, when his new explorations finally paid off. He tried to repeat whatever it was that he’d done and after several attempts, found his mark. He pulled his top knee up toward his chest to make his work a bit easier, groaned into his pillow. He’d never felt anything like this. He closed his eyes, imagined himself in Lucan’s place in that tent. Imagined Merlin on his knees in front of him in Madoc’s.

His hands were getting tired and his wrist was beginning to ache, but he could feel a climax building. He squeezed his eyes even tighter. His whole body tingled—the back of his neck, the skin between his toes.

It felt like he was ready to spend, but it didn’t happen, just kept going until he thought he might cry if he couldn’t finish soon. When he finally did, he turned his face into his pillow and let out a choked sob.

The room was quiet save for a light wind rattling the window and the crackling of the wood on the fire, and he was left with nothing but sweat soaked sheets, dirty hands, and oil sliding down the back of his thigh. He wanted to get out of bed, clean himself up, but he couldn’t at the moment. He was stuck in the shadow of his pathetic little daydream. Because he knew. Merlin didn’t see him the way Madoc saw Lucan. And that was okay for now, but what if he never did? What if he would only ever see the little boy who’d sat on his lap listening with rapt attention to the story of Kilgharrah, the last Great Dragon?

Arthur gave himself a shake, forced himself to get up and walk over to the wash bowl. He stood there after he was done, not wanting to return to his empty bed. He grabbed a book to read by the fire like he usually would. He didn’t turn a single page, just stared at the scribbles, seeing the marks but not registering their meaning.  

He must have done something wrong. He’d never felt like this after touching himself before. Maybe if he weren’t alone, it would be different. He didn’t think he would touch his insides like that again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur, sweetie, what are you doing to me? Why are you making me write this? Please don't be lonely. :( :(
> 
> Also, [here's an interesting article](http://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-16964783) regarding the whole segmented sleep business. It basically uses a sleep study and historic evidence to argue that it's more natural to sleep for a while, awake up for an hour or two, then sleep again than it is to sleep a whole 8 hours in a row.


	6. Quests and Confessions

It was a mild day near the end of autumn when Morgana took ill. A servant informed him when he came back from a ride that Merlin was tending her in her chambers and that his father had requested his presence there immediately. Arthur ran the whole way, unsure about what sort of condition would prompt such a request.

He didn’t knock on the door when he arrived but ploughed right in. Merlin and Uther’s heads turned in near unison. Gaius was on the other side of the bed, wringing out a cloth for Morgana’s forehead.

“Arthur,” his father croaked out.

Arthur stepped up to Morgana’s bedside. She looked pale—even more so than usual—and her breath came as a shallow wheezing. He waited for his father to elaborate, but the king couldn’t manage.

Merlin touched his forearm, spoke in a soft voice. “Morgana is very ill.”

“But you can heal her,” Arthur said, confident.

“I don’t know.”

Arthur didn’t understand. All Merlin had to do was use magic. He opened his mouth to say as much and stopped. They weren’t alone. Arthur glanced over at Gaius, looked to his father who sat with his head bowed.

His father! His father and his stupid rules! He was going to get Morgana killed. And for what? A hot flash of anger boiled up and suddenly he was angry with Merlin as well. He had healed Arthur’s leg in secret. Why would he not do the same for Morgana?

“There is a chance…” Merlin said, and anything Arthur had been about to say died in his throat.

Uther snapped his head up in attention.

“There is a plant that I believe might be crafted into an antidote.” Merlin looked him in the eye and Arthur could tell, there was more to it than he was saying. Arthur’s cheeks flushed with shame for thinking so poorly of Merlin. Of course he was going to help Morgana; he just couldn’t say what he was doing.

“All you need is a plant? Why hasn’t someone been sent to retrieve it already?” Uther said.

“It doesn’t grow in Camelot. I’ll need to travel to Gwynedd.”

“ _You’re_ going?” Arthur said, then turned to his father. Surely he wouldn’t allow this. “Merlin needs to stay here with Morgana. I’ll go.”

“You’re too young, Arthur,” his father said.

“It has to be me. This plant is rare, but it looks a good deal like another more common variety. It would be disastrous if the wrong plant were brought back.”

“So draw me a picture,” Arthur said.

“It’s the smell that distinguishes the good plant from the bad.”

“I’ll send a dozen men with you,” Uther said.

“That would be a mistake, if you’ll pardon my saying, my lord. I’ll be riding into Caerleon’s kingdom. A group of your soldiers crossing the border would be seen as an act of war. Even if they weren’t bearing your standard or wearing your colors, it would be easy to single them out as trained fighting men. They would draw attention.”

“So I’ll send you a single escort, Sir Kay or Sir Ector, perhaps.”

“Sir Kay was injured while out on a patrol of the border last month and is still recovering. Sir Ector, I fear is widely known as your man. He competed in tourneys across the land when he was younger. I want to draw the least amount of attention as possible. I don’t mind going alone.”

“It’s too dangerous!” Arthur said.

“Arthur is right. I can’t send you alone. Even if there weren’t bandits and mercenaries along your path, your horse might slip a shoe or you might befall some other random accident. No, best to have at least one man go with you. If you’re so worried about a knight standing out, then I’ll send you one of our older men. People are less likely to be intimidated by a man old enough for grey. “Sir Madoc will do. And that squire of his—the one who won the archery last year. He’s skilled enough to be of good use, but doesn’t have much of an intimidating look.”

Arthur argued further that he needed to accompany them, but his father was set. “Three men is enough. My decision is final.”

Merlin nodded. “I’ll set off immediately.”

“I’ll run the message to Madoc and Lucan.” Arthur said, then took off before his father could counter.

After giving his message, Arthur went to his rooms to pack a bag, peeked out the window to the courtyard and saw Merlin, Lucan, and Madoc mounting up. Arthur knew the route they would take and was accomplished enough at tracking that he’d catch any change in their planned path. Arthur didn’t like lying, found it dishonourable, but he never agreed to stay. Never told his father he wouldn’t sneak off.

He waited until after dinner with his father and slipped out with his bag into the dark of night. The stable hand, Lancelot, didn’t question him when he ordered his horse saddled, just did as Arthur said with a polite nod of his head. Arthur could only hope that the boy wouldn’t go straight to the king when he left.

Arthur rode at a walk through the dark, pressed on even when he got tired. Merlin and the others had a good five hour lead and he wanted to catch up tonight. Every once and a while, Arthur would dismount and check the trail ahead for recent horse tracks to make sure he was still on the right path. The moon was only half full, but there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. When paired with the bare trees, he had just enough light for his task.

Arthur yawned, not for the first time, when he caught a glimpse through the trees of a campfire. It wasn’t a surprise. With the light wind, he’d been smelling the smoke for several minutes. He dismounted, tied his horse to a tree, and drew his sword. There was no guarantee this was his party up ahead.

He crept through the forest, sword at the ready. A silhouette of a slender man leaned against a tree half a dozen paces from the fire. Two lumps lay on the ground. Somewhere nearby, a horse nickered. These were all good signs.

Arthur crept to the side, trying to stay out of view of the watchman, but Arthur was at the disadvantage here. The guard would have an easier time seeing the details of the woods with his back to the fire than Arthur did facing the blinding light.

“I know you’re out there,” the guard said in a voice loud enough to rouse the rest of his camp. “Lay down any weapons you have and you won’t be harmed.”

Arthur only smiled. That was Lucan’s voice.

“No need for any of that,” Arthur said. “It’s just me.”

“Prince Arthur?”

“I’ll be right in. I just have to go back for my horse.”

A few minutes later, Arthur was leading his palfrey past the fire and Lucan was making room to add the horse to the picket line.

“What on earth are you doing here?” Merlin said, earning a raised eyebrow from Sir Madoc at his tone.

“I came to help.”

“Your father told you to stay home.”

Arthur shrugged.

Sir Madoc grumbled. “Well, we can’t send him back alone. Lucan could escort you to the cliffs while I take Prince Arthur back to Camelot.”

“No,” Merlin said. “We might as well all stick together now.”

Arthur settled down on his bed roll feeling rather pleased with his success. Even Merlin’s silent glaring wasn’t enough to dampen his mood. He was 15 now; he was old enough to weigh risks on his own and make informed decisions.

By the next morning, Merlin’s anger had settled down and they pressed steadily toward the coast, only ever stopping long enough for the bare necessities, like food and rest. In the afternoon, that meant a brief stop in a pleasant little clearing that Sir Madoc suggested. After that, they were soon passing out of Camelot and into Gwynedd and Arthur got the full account of what they were looking for.

“The moss only grows on the west facing cliffs along the Great Seas of Meredoc.”

They took a route that avoided all major towns and though they did pass a few fellow travelers, Merlin just smiled pleasantly at them and Sir Madoc gave them a ‘good day’ and they passed on by without incident.

It was nearing sunset on the third day that they finally reached the coast. Arthur stared out across the sea. The expansiveness of it was unreal. The water went on forever. He’d never seen anything like it, had never been this far from home.

Merlin wasted no time. He walked out to the edge, laid down on his belly, and peered over the side. After a minute, he scrambled up, moved down the cliff a ways, and repeated the procedure. “Over here,” he yelled.

Lucan pulled a coil of rope from one of the packs and headed over to where Merlin lay. Arthur moved up beside Merlin and peeked over the edge. The cliff didn’t have a sheer face, but it was plenty steep.

A moment later, Arthur stepped back from the ledge and found that Lucan had already wrapped the rope twice around his waist then once around the top of each leg at the hip. He didn’t know where the squire had learned to make a harness like that. It wasn’t a skill he’d seen any of the knights teaching.

Madoc rested his hand on the squire’s shoulder, swept his thumb back and forth—probably didn’t notice Arthur watching, might not even be aware he was doing it. Arthur himself might not have noticed if he weren’t now hyperaware of their every interaction.

“I won’t let you fall.”

Lucan nodded once. “I know.”

“I should be the one to go over the side,” Arthur said. “I’m smaller than Lucan. It’ll be easier to support me.”

“No,” Merlin and Madoc said in unison.

Lucan was soon easing himself over the edge of the cliff. Madoc stood back from the edge a short distance, slowly letting out just enough rope to let Lucan descend. He stood with one leg out in front, braced most of his weight through his back leg, ready at any moment to support the boy’s entire weight should he slip. Merlin was still lying on his belly, head over the edge of the cliff, directing Lucan toward the correct plant.

Once Arthur saw what they were after and while no one was looking, he slid his body over the side a dozen paces further north than Lucan and started climbing unaided to a little patch of the same type of moss. This patch he’d found was much closer. He was surprised Merlin had missed it. He’d be down and back before Lucan even reached his target.

He was on his way back up, moss tucked into his coin purse, when he heard a thunderous clatter of falling rocks off to his right. Lucan gave a short, surprised yell, and Sir Madoc let out a strained grunt.

“I’m all right!” Lucan yelled from below.

Merlin called Arthur’s name. “We could use a little help here.”

Arthur could tell when Merlin realized he wasn’t within view.

“Arthur? _Arthur!_ ”

“It’s all right!” he called back, climbing faster.

Merlin didn’t have time to be angry with him when he pulled himself back over the cliff edge.

“Help direct Lucan to hand holds!” Merlin said as he sprang to his feet and grabbed the rope to help Madoc support the weight.

“No need. You can hoist him back up. I have what we need.” He dug his bit of moss out of his coin purse to prove it. “See?”

Merlin closed his eyes, took a deep breath. “Help. Lucan.”

“But—”

“Remember what I said? The plant we need looks very similar to a more common variety?”

He’d said it was the smell that distinguished them. “Yeah, but how can you tell without—”

Merlin was eyeing him with an intent stare and he knew. Merlin had used magic to determine which was the right specimen. He couldn’t very well say that in front of Sir Madoc.

Arthur dropped the useless moss to the ground and went to lay where Merlin had been. He immediately saw what the trouble was. The section of cliff wall where Lucan was climbing was unstable. As he’d put his weight on it, the loose rocks had come free and fallen to the beach below. Now he was left dangling in midair with no portion of the cliff within reach.

“You’re going to have to lower him a few feet,” he said, then called down to Lucan so he knew what to expect.

Although Sir Madoc was likely strong enough to have supported Lucan on his own, he looked relieved to have Merlin’s help. The signs of their relationship were everywhere if you knew to look. Most people didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. Any hint of special regard was dismissed as the natural affection between a knight and his apprentice. As far as Arthur could tell, there were only a few knights that knew the truth about them.

When Lucan was back on solid ground, Merlin pulled Arthur aside. “What you did was stupid.”

Arthur wanted to argue. Wanted to tell Merlin that he wasn’t allowed to talk to him that way—

“What if the same thing that happened to Lucan had happened to you? You would have fallen to your death, and there’s nothing I can do to fix that.”

—but when he put it that way, it was hard to stay angry with him. “I only wanted to help.”

“I know you did, but you’re not invincible, Arthur. Please be more careful in future. After that rock fall, when I realized what you were doing, I think I felt my heart stop for a moment.”

It wasn’t that Arthur liked to make Merlin worry, but there was a certain satisfaction in knowing that the man cared so much.

Merlin mumbled something about reckless teenage boys that Arthur didn’t think he was supposed to hear. Then he said, “We’d better get going. Morgana can’t hold out much longer.”

With the moss successfully stashed away in Merlin’s pack and the party headed back to Camelot, it seemed their quest was all but ended. They’d had no trouble getting here after all; Arthur didn’t see any reason to assume they wouldn’t have more of the same on the way home.

The first arrow shot through the trees from the south, hit Lucan’s horse in the flank. The animal reared, tossing his rider to the ground and taking off at a gallop. Arthur struggled to remain on his horse as more than half a dozen men spilled out of the forest running toward their party with weapons drawn, their feral cries ringing through the air.

The nearest bandit dropped to the ground with an arrow in his chest. Lucan had managed to retain his bow during his fall. Arthur didn’t allow himself any time to be impressed. He drew his sword, spun his horse and charged toward his next closest enemy.

Sir Madoc shouted, and Merlin cried out Arthur’s name. Arthur whipped his head round to check on his comrades. Everyone was still upright. That was all he had time for. He turned back to his opponent, a rough-clad man with a scruffy beard and a heavy ax that he was drawing back for an attack. Arthur was quicker, he sliced at the man’s body, but he wore chainmail across his chest. Arthur’s sword scraped along the metal until it hit the flesh of the man’s arm. He gave a pained cry and dropped his weapon. That was enough for Arthur. He moved on to the next man who inexplicably lost his footing and fell face first onto the side of Arthur’s sword. On the ground, the man turned over, hands grasping at his face, covered with blood.

Another man rushing toward him stopped midstride, looked at Arthur bearing down on him with his impressive horse, glanced at the state of the rest of his friends then turned and ran off.

Arthur assessed the status of his companions. Madoc had placed himself between Arthur and one of the few bandits still left standing. A clang rang through the air as the bandit countered the knight’s blow. Madoc grunted, reached back to his belt with his free hand, slid out of his saddle, and drove his dagger into his opponent’s shoulder. The bandit faltered and Madoc used the opportunity to drive his sword into the man’s belly.

Arthur looked around. The field was clear. Lucan held his bow at the ready, scanning the surrounding trees for residual threats. Arthur breathed a sigh of relief and dismounted, intending to search the fallen men for any sign that they were more than ordinary bandits.

“Archer!” Lucan shouted and Arthur heard the sound of the squire’s bow string letting loose.

Arthur didn’t have time to respond, didn’t even know where the threat was coming from. Sir Madoc pushed him to the side, hard. Arthur fell to the ground, stared up at the knight who let out a pained grunt as an arrow slammed into his chest.

Lucan screamed.

Arthur pushed himself up, scrambled over to the knight. Off in the trees, a body fell to the ground.

Merlin dropped to his knees at Madoc’s side to evaluate his condition. Arthur didn’t need to see his grim expression to know the man didn’t have long to live. Merlin put his hands on the knight’s chest and Arthur thought he might be using magic or preparing to use magic, but the knight pushed his hands away, said, “No, don’t need any treatment. Just… Lucan!” He raised his voice, and Merlin allowed himself to be pushed away as Lucan took his place.

“You know what to do.”

Lucan managed to nod his head in a jerking motion.

“Don’t be sad for me. Better an honourable death in the field than to grow weak and watch you lose interest in an old man like me.”

Madoc spoke without reservation, either uncaring or oblivious to Arthur’s presence by his side. Merlin turned to face the opposite direction, giving the dying man his privacy, but he could obviously still hear what was happening. He balled his hands into fists, the knuckles going white, and Arthur thought he might even be trembling, either with anger or frustration, he didn’t know.

“I wouldn’t have!” Lucan said.

“I know you don’t think so, and it makes my heart soar to hear you say it. So long as you don’t forget what I’ve taught you, I’ll always be with you.” He took a rasping breath, then he was gone.

As Sir Madoc’s squire, it fell to Lucan to see to a proper burial. “He wouldn’t want to be left here. He’d want to return to Camelot soil. When we’re over the border, I’ll lay him to rest in that little clearing that he noted on our way through the other day.”

Even though it must be obvious to Lucan that Arthur and Merlin now knew about his relationship with Sir Madoc, he tried hard to remain stoic. He managed to do a fairly decent job of it too. Arthur never once saw a tear. Not even when they laid the knight to rest.

Arthur felt terrible—not because he’d seen a man die, he’d seen men die before—but because it was his fault twice over. If he’d killed that bandit in the first place instead of letting him run away, he could never have fired that arrow. And then Madoc had only been shot because he’d been protecting Arthur. The facts were plain. Arthur wasn’t supposed to be here in the first place—had been forbidden to come—and now Madoc was dead because of him. He told Lucan, felt the squire needed to hear it, apologized, for what good it would do.

Lucan would hear nothing of it. “No, it was my fault. I saw the man taking aim. I drew my bow and loosed first, but I missed. I can win a tournament, sure, but try to hit a target when it really matters and I’m useless.” Lucan drew himself up. “Madoc underestimated me sometimes. Thinking that just because I’m young, I don’t know my own heart. But I know exactly what I want. Madoc gave his life to protect yours. I’ll spend mine doing the same. If there’s ever anything you need Prince Arthur, I’m your man.”

When they returned to Camelot, Merlin raced to his chambers to prepare the medicine while Arthur went straight to Morgana’s rooms. Uther was there at her bedside. His eyes were downcast as he watched her struggling to breathe. He hadn’t even looked up to acknowledge Arthur’s presence.

“Merlin will be here shortly with the medicine, Father. I’m sure Morgana will be all right.”

Uther didn’t have the same faith in Merlin’s abilities as Arthur did. He shook his head, then raised his voice. “Guard!”

“Father?” Arthur didn’t see it coming.

“Escort the prince to the dungeon. You can let him out in the morning.”

The guard nodded, stepped forward to grab Arthur’s elbow, and immediately began turning them to leave.

“Wha—? Wait!”

The guard stopped tugging at his arm, but didn’t let go.

“You intentionally disobeyed my direct instructions.” Uther shook his head. “You should have been here for her this whole time instead of traipsing about the countryside. You’re not a servant, Arthur, you’re the prince. Or at least, you’re supposed to be. A night in a cold cell will give you some time to reflect on your choices.” Then Uther waved the guard away, and Arthur had no choice but to go along.

Even as the cell door swung shut behind him, he could scarcely believe it. He stared directly ahead for several minutes, not really seeing anything, then went over to the far wall and sat down, feet flat on the floor, knees up. He rested one arm on his knee, rested his head against the cold stone wall even as the rock leached away his body heat.

He was meant to be regretting his choices and learning the wisdom of following his father’s orders, but the more he thought about it, he _had_ incapacitated two of those bandits. There was no telling what might have happened if he hadn’t been there to help balance the odds. Sir Madoc might have died anyway. Lucan and Merlin too. And once he realized that, all he could think about was that his own father had locked him away. He still felt awful about what happened to Sir Madoc, but he didn’t need to be thrown in a cell for that. And what was that his father had said? Something about how Arthur was “supposed to be” the prince. Just what did that mean?  

The next day, Arthur was on his way back to his chambers for a hot bath—he was chilled to the bone and nothing else was going to warm him up at this point—when a trumpet sounded. Arthur picked up his pace to a jog, then a run. His father must be making an unscheduled speech, which meant something was wrong. What if…. For the first time, Arthur considered that Merlin’s cure might not have worked, or that the medicine had come too late.

Arthur burst out into the main square and found the place already crowded with people. His father was standing out on a balcony overlooking the square. He didn’t have time to make it up to the balcony before Uther started his speech. He lingered by the steps wondering if it was best to stay and listen or sprint to the king as soon as possible.

“People of Camelot! I bring you joyous news.”

Arthur turned back. He’d been expecting the worst, but if this was good news, it would be safe to stay here and listen.

“As you may know, the Lady Morgana is recently recovered from a grave illness. It was more than 11 years ago now that her father, Lord Galoris, a faithful and valuable knight and friend, died in battle and I agreed to take Morgana under my care as my ward.

Where was this going? Had some wealthy noble asked for Morgana’s hand in marriage?

“In that time, she has grown more dear to me than I could have ever imagined.”

Arthur’s eyes went wide. It wasn’t… It couldn’t be Uther that wanted to marry her, could it? Surely Morgana would never agree to that…. Would she?

“As she lay in bed deathly ill this past week, I came to realize just how strongly I feel.”

He felt a little sick imagining Morgana as his step-mother. Unwanted images of Uther pushing her onto his bed and caressing her naked body made the sensation worse. Arthur shuddered. Thankfully, his father moved on before his imagination could descend any further.

“Now she is recovered, I would have the world see her as I do: not as my ward, but as a daughter of my own blood.”

Arthur heaved a sigh of relief, but the feeling was short-lived.

“I have spoken with the court genealogist on this matter and all the paperwork is in order for the official adoption of the Lady Morgana into the Pendragon House.

Murmurs ran through the crowd.

“I hereby declare a day of festival to celebrate this joyous event.”

An applause broke out, but Arthur didn’t join in. He couldn’t move. This would place Morgana in the line of succession. Was Arthur’s behaviour really so erratic that Uther thought he needed a backup heir in case Arthur got himself killed? Or was he setting everything in place to… Arthur felt a pain in his chest. Was he being disowned in favour of Morgana?

Arthur charged up the stairs but was too late to meet his father at the balcony. He had to storm about the castle until he finally found the man in his chambers. Arthur promptly dismissed his father’s manservant.

“What’s this about, Arthur? You looked ready to tear poor Mabon’s head off.”

“Have I done something wrong?”

“Wrong?”

“Are you angry with me still? I’m sorry for taking off like I did after you told me to stay in Camelot, but I thought you at least understood that what I did was for Morgana.”

“Yes, yes.” Uther waved a hand in the air as if to dismiss the conversation from his company. “Get to the point, Arthur.”

“About today’s pronouncement, are you disinheriting me?”

“Don’t be foolish. You’re my natural heir.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me? I thought such a huge change would warrant a discussion before announcing it to the whole of Camelot, but you added someone to the line of succession without even warning me in advance. I was just let out of the dungeon. You couldn’t have even known that I would be there to hear your announcement. It’s as if I was the last person you thought to tell. What was I supposed to think?”

Uther scowled. “You are supposed to accept my judgment without question! I am your king!”

“I thought you were my father too.” Arthur turned and stalked out the door without waiting for a reply.

Uther had never been one for expressing feelings. Arthur had always thought that was just his personality and yet, he’d made a very public announcement of his paternal love for Morgana. What did that mean about his regard for Arthur? He had to consider the possibility that maybe his father didn’t love him at all.

When Arthur left his father’s chambers, he didn’t have any destination in mind. He found himself at Merlin’s door. Merlin hadn’t heard the news yet, or at least Arthur assumed that was the case from the fact that Merlin didn’t say anything about it. Arthur didn’t mention it either. He sat down and watched Merlin as he tended to an unconscious woman. Her left eye was swollen shut but the worst of the damage was at her temple. Blood matted her hair and her skin was so bruised, it was nearly black.

“I sent Gaius to fetch some fresh comfrey and marshmallow root,” Merlin said.

“What happened to her?”

“A merchant had an intact mule at the market. She was in the way when the stud tried to get at her mare.”

Arthur frowned. This should never have happened. There was no purpose in leaving a mule ungelded. It wasn’t as if they could breed. He’d have a talk with the merchant about it.

“Is she going to be all right?”

“No.” Merlin bowed his head. “That’s the real reason I sent Gaius away. He’s not used to seeing people die yet. You should go too.”

“I’ve seen people die before.”

“I know. You’ve seen too much these past few days.”

“I’d rather be here with you.” That was true no matter what was going on around Merlin, whether it was injuries or illnesses, magic or death, annoying nephews or patients with bad attitudes. Arthur always wanted to be with Merlin. But then, that was nothing new.

The woman’s husband arrived a short time later, and Arthur moved away so as to not distract the poor man from his wife. Merlin explained the situation gently, told the man, “She was unconscious when she arrived here. She hasn’t woken since, so she feels no pain.”

Merlin stepped away from the cot, gave the man time to say his goodbyes in private. He came and sat next to Arthur instead.

“Father had me tossed in the dungeon for the night.”

“You knew he would be upset with you when you disobeyed him. You knew there would be repercussions.”

“Yes, but… I thought he would at least understand why I did it.”

“What makes you think that he doesn’t?”

“Just… It’s not important.”

“Somehow, I don’t believe you. But that’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.”

“You’ll find out on your own soon enough.”

Merlin raised an eyebrow at that but didn’t press for more information.

They sat in silence for a time, then Merlin said, “Did you come straight here from the dungeon?”

“I stopped to talk to Father first. Didn’t do any good. He never listens to what I have to say. He doesn’t respect me at all.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is.” Arthur didn’t want to talk about himself anymore. From across the room, the woman’s husband began to sob openly. Merlin went tense beside him, balled his hands like he’d done when Sir Madoc died. “It never gets easier, does it? Watching people say goodbye like that.”

Merlin shook his head, apparently not trusting himself with words.

Merlin was always the one comforting Arthur. He’d never really considered before that Merlin might need to be comforted on occasion too.

“Is it because there is nothing you can do to help? You can’t do everything. No one can.”

Merlin chuckled a little, looked over at him appraisingly.

“What?”

“You really are starting to grow up, aren’t you?”

Arthur had to consciously stop himself from preening at the acknowledgment.

“But no,” Merlin said. “I know I can’t save everyone. It’s still hard though. You see someone overcome with emotion like that and you can’t help but put yourself in their place, imagine someone you care about suddenly being taken away from you. At least, that’s how I see it.”

Arthur put his hand on Merlin’s arm just long enough to give a comforting squeeze. Merlin gave him a weak smile in return. Arthur needed to be getting to his official duties, but he stayed a while longer, until the husband was able to regain control of himself.

Uther ignored Arthur outright for several days and for Arthur, that was all the proof he needed that his worst fears were true. Then at the end of the week, Arthur was about to leave his chambers when Uther walked in without warning.

“My lord,” Arthur said, his voice flat.

“Arthur…” Uther looked to the side, uncertain. It was strange, seeing him like this. Uther had always been the epitome of self-assurance. Now, for just a moment, he looked… almost ordinary—human, like the rest of the world. “I… wanted to apologize. It’s come to my attention that perhaps you were right earlier. About discussing Morgana’s situation with you first. I forget sometimes that you are growing up quickly. You’re not the little boy I think of anymore. I suppose every parent must go through this at some point. You cannot stay a child forever.”

Arthur was left gawping at the sudden reversal. He couldn’t recall his father having ever apologized before.

The next time he saw Merlin, the man smiled knowingly at him, and Arthur had to wonder if some casual advice from the physician hadn’t been responsible for the change. And if that were true, then maybe Merlin’s perspective was beginning to change too.

-x-x-

Winter crept by slowly for Arthur. There were others around him, however, that were too happy to notice the cold and damp.

“Look over there,” Gwaine said after training was finished for the day. “Lancelot looks like he’s found the Holy Land.”

Arthur glanced over. The stable hand stood next to Morgana’s new handmaid, Gwen, who Arthur had once claimed to fancy. The notion seemed laughable now. It was a wonder Gwaine and the others had ever believed him.

“What are you talking about?” Percival said.

“He’s besotted with Gwen. Good thing she looks at him the same way he looks at her.”

“And what way is that?”

“Oh you know, staring at each other like they’re the only light in the world. Acting stupidly giddy just from a simple hello. Completely overlooking any flaw in the other’s character. They’re completely in love!”

“In love?” Arthur said.

“Yeah. Just look at them. You’d have to be blind not to notice.”

Arthur saw the smile on Gwen’s face. He recognized it. Not because she’d ever turned it toward him, but because he knew what it felt like. That was the sort of smile that made his cheeks sore when he was around Merlin. Gwaine thought that was love, but that couldn’t be right. Gwen and Lancelot were Arthur’s age and at 15, they were all too young for that sort of love. Weren’t they?

“They’re going to spend the rest of their lives together. I can tell.”

Arthur’s hands turned clammy and he had to consciously remind himself to take a breath. “Is that what love is? Wanting to be together forever?” That was what he wanted with Merlin.

Gwaine shrugged. “Do you have a better definition?”

His heart raced like he was still in the middle of his drills, and Gwaine was starting to look at him funny. He turned and strode off.

“Where are you going?” Percival called after him.

“I don’t feel well.” It wasn’t a lie. Not exactly.

He stalked back to his chambers, sat in front of his fireplace, and stared at the leftover coals from the morning fire.

He’d hoped being alone would help him think a little clearer, but it didn’t. His mind chased the same thoughts round and round. He couldn’t be in love with Merlin. He just couldn’t. It would never work. He was the prince. He had responsibilities.

He gripped the arms of his chair with undue force, fully aware of how stupid this whole thing was because it should have been obvious. He’s loved Merlin forever—his whole life—and while that wasn’t the same as being in love with him, it was impossible to miss the amount of time he’s spent daydreaming and fantasizing about the physician. It wasn’t as if he’d ever thought that all he wanted was a romp.

Someone knocked at the door.

“Enter.”

In walked the last person he wanted to see.

“I just saw Percival,” Merlin said. “He said you rushed off suddenly after training. He thought you might be feeling ill.”

“I’m fine,” he snapped.

“You don’t sound fine. You sound upset. Do you want to talk about it?”

What was Merlin’s problem? It was like he’d cast a spell to alert him whenever Arthur was angry or irritated so that he could pester Arthur about it.

“No, I don’t want to talk about it, not with anyone, and certainly not with you!”

Merlin’s expression fell. “Sorry I intruded then, my lord,” and he turned to leave.

That was worse than the idea of talking about it with him.

“Wait!”

Merlin froze, his hand held steady on the door latch.

“Maybe you could just… sit with me instead?”

A nervous flutter started up in his belly as Merlin turned back around, gave him a soft smile, and crossed the room to where Arthur sat.

“Are you cold? Do you mind if stoke the fire?”

Arthur grunted. He didn’t care one way or the other.

“I always like a fire when I’m in a poor mood. I find it soothing.”

Merlin sank to his knees in front of the fireplace and started shuffling around the remains of the last fire, separating the ash from the embers.

“I’ll call a servant to do that.”

“No need.”

Arthur watched him work for several minutes, listened to him talk, and felt himself finally begin to relax for the first time since Gwaine had mentioned love. This was the power Merlin had over him.

Out of nowhere, Arthur said, “Gwaine says Lancelot and Gwen are in love.”

“Is this what upset you today?” Merlin turned back to Arthur to await his response.

He shrugged his shoulders trying for a denial but knew he’d never been good at lying, especially to Merlin.

“Do you have special feelings for one of them? Is that the problem?”

“No. I… it’s someone else.”

“So what is the problem?”

“This person… We could never… I mean… It’s not a good match. Not appropriate. I’m sure everyone would agree.”

“Is this about social status?”

“No.”

“Gender?”

“No! It’s… just ignore it, okay?” It wasn’t as though those things weren’t contributing factors—age too, that certainly didn’t help—but none of that was the actual problem. It was his father. It was society as a whole. Even if Merlin wanted him, they’d never be able to gaze at each other out in public like Gwen and Lancelot. They’d never be able to be open about their relationship. They’d have to keep the whole thing a secret like Madoc and Lucan—to hide it, like it was dirty or wrong. And even worse, he knew his father was already looking at foreign princesses, analyzing their potential for a strategic political marriage.

“It’s hard to ignore you, sulking away as you are.”

“Yeah well… There’s nothing that can be done. I knew how I felt all along, I just didn’t realize… How am I supposed to marry someone else?”

“Marriage, Arthur? That’s a long way off for you. Your feelings might change half a dozen times or more in that amount of time.”

“I don’t think so. I can’t imagine not loving this person. I always have. I think I always will.”

“That’s okay. There are many different kinds of love. Many different ways to love a person. You might feel more than one of them for the same person at the same time. It might not feel like it right now, but feelings of romantic love… physical love… these often change or fade. Especially at your age.”

Merlin was watching him closely, judging his reactions. “The changes aren’t always quick of course. And sometimes things happen; outside factors force sudden changes in our relationships. Our hearts don’t always keep up. You have to give yourself time to adjust.”

“You’re right,” Arthur lied. “Maybe I’ll just grow out of it. Forget I said anything.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I only mean that you don’t know what the future holds. And if you really are certain that you’ll always love this person, maybe there’s another kind of love there. A pure love, true love. One that goes beyond the bonds of human conventions like marriage, and if that’s the way you feel, even if the other types of love fade, or can never be expressed, you’ll still be left with that. That’s the best type of love, the strongest. You should cherish it.”

Merlin finally let the topic go and started rambling on about the approaching spring. Arthur barely listened. He was still going over what Merlin had said about love. Some of his points had been a bit strange. What was that about outside factors forcing relationships to change?

Then it hit him. Merlin thought he was talking about Morgana, that he was upset because she was legally his sister now. But she’d always felt like a sister. Nothing had changed there. He wanted to growl in frustration. He couldn’t get over it. Merlin thought that Arthur was _in love_ with _Morgana!_ How could he have missed how much Arthur liked him?

He had a sudden urge to correct the mistake. Before he could pull the words back, he whispered, “It’s you.” He instantly regretted it.

Merlin stopped midsentence, drew in his eyebrows, and frowned. He looked like he was in pain. “Oh, Arthur. I’m so sorry.”

Arthur didn’t want him to be sorry. He wanted Merlin to love him back.

“Do you think you’ll ever love me?”

“Arthur, I already love you.”

“You know what I mean. Love me the same way I love you. When I’ve finished growing, I mean.”

“Arthur, I can’t… You’re… I… I don’t know.”

Well, it wasn’t a no. And really, what more had he expected? Arthur stared down at his lap. Maybe he should just be grateful that Merlin wasn’t trying to convince him he didn’t know his own heart, that he was confused, that Merlin wasn’t repeating what he’d said about feelings changing. But none of that was enough.

“Would you… hold my hand?” What he really wanted was for Merlin to hold him in his arms, but he knew Merlin wouldn’t agree to that.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Arthur. I don’t want to make things more difficult for you.”

“It won’t,” he lied, knowing that even if he could convince him, it would only be out of sympathy, knowing he’d spend every second dreading the moment when Merlin let go.

Merlin climbed off the floor, a robust fire now blazing on the hearth.  He laid a hand on Arthur’s shoulder for a long moment then left him alone with his thoughts.

Arthur replayed the conversation in his mind, cringing. He made Merlin uncomfortable now. He’d ruined everything. If he’d just been able to act normal around him, maybe they would still be friends.


	7. Beasts and Burdens

Summer has always been Arthur’s favourite season. Winters are too cold and harsh to spend much time outdoors, spring is too wet, and during autumn, court is busiest with the arrival of taxes after the harvest and preparations for winter. Not only is summer when tournaments are held, but it’s also the time when hunts are most reliably held for no other reason than the pleasure of the sport.

When his father announced a hunt in the Darkling Woods, Arthur started counting down the hours. He had been rather glum over the past few months. Merlin was trying to appear to avoid him while not _actually_ avoiding him. Probably thought Arthur didn’t notice him lurking about. Probably thought keeping his distance would make Arthur feel better after his disastrous confession.

It would be good to get out of the castle for a while for something enjoyable. And he wouldn’t have to deal with Merlin’s faux avoidance because he wouldn’t be there at all. Merlin hated hunting. Any time Uther tried to invite him along, he’d think up some sort of lame excuse.

They set off in the morning, and the royal huntsman guided them to a spot by a creek that Arthur didn’t think he’d ever been to before. Shortly after midday, the party caught signs of a boar and angled off to the west while Arthur lingered back so that he could relieve himself. On his way to rejoin the group, he noticed a strange pattern of disturbance through the trees. It hadn’t rained in weeks, so there were no imprints on the hard, dry ground, but there was a trail of snapped branches. The damage was too high off the ground to have been made by a boar or even a deer, but that only served to spark Arthur’s curiosity. He followed the trail, hoping to impress his father with his tracking skills.

The trail led to the mouth of a large cave and visions of a massive bear danced into Arthur’s head. There weren’t many animals he knew of after all that would take shelter in a cave. A distant rumble echoed its way to Arthur from deep in the cave and his horse shied beneath him. Once the animal was calm again, he dismounted, tied the gelding to a felled tree, and went to investigate. He didn’t have a torch so he couldn’t venture in very far before running out of light. Instead, he scuffed his feet across the ground and did his best to impersonate the grunting bellow of a stag. If this beast really was a predator, maybe he could lure it out to meet him if he sounded enough like he could be its next meal.

A scrapping noise echoed through the chamber. A shadow shifted in the low light. Arthur drew his sword, began backing his way toward the cave entrance, toward the light.

The shadow moved steadily toward him, growing more defined. It was far larger than he’d expected. By the time the creature was full in the light, staring him down with its reptilian eyes and its scaly body, Arthur had begun to wonder at the wisdom of having come here alone.

The beast hissed at him, truly hissed, like a snake, its forked tongue darting out to taste the air. Its head looked rather snake-like as well, with large, thin, curved fangs and a fan of scaly skin to decorate the sides of its face. But this was no snake. It was huge for one thing and had four legs. It reared back on two of them and roared.

Arthur nearly dropped his sword and ran, but there was no way to outrun this beast. It would be on him in under two strides, tearing him apart. And that was assuming it didn’t swallow him whole.

He had to crane his neck up to follow the beast’s head movements. He needed to see where it was looking, judge where it was going to move next if he was to survive this fight. The creature settled back onto all fours and the ground shook beneath him.

The creature batted at him with its front claws like a cat toying with a mouse. Arthur managed to deflect the blow with his sword but didn’t cut deep; his blade was still clean. He thrust his sword toward the beast, more as a show of might than an actual offensive. Fighting a beast this large on foot with only a sword was near impossible. Maybe if he had a horse and a lance, he might have a chance, but like this? His best outcome would be to frighten the beast off or injure it enough that it gave up.

He screamed at the creature, lashed out over and over. The beast clawed at him again and knocked him over. Before he could get his feet under him, the beast advanced, its front legs coming to rest on either side of his head, its tail whipping through the air in agitation.

The beast hovered over him possessively, as if it had already claimed Arthur as its latest meal. It flicked its tongue out and touched Arthur’s cheek, just below his left eye. Its breath reeked like rotting corpses left to bloat in the sun.

Just as Arthur came to accept that there was no hope, that he was going to die here, the beast jerked its head up and away from Arthur. He tipped his head back to see where it was looking—out into the trees. In the pause in fighting, Arthur could hear hooves pounding on the dry earth and a distant, but distinct voice calling his name—Morgana. He hadn’t realized she’d even come on this hunt. In fact, he was sure she hadn’t.

Arthur used the moment of distraction to ram his sword up under the beast’s jaw line. The tip dug past the scales and into flesh. The creature let out a terrible scream, then it was gone, thundering its way back into the depths of its cave.

Moments later, Morgana rode into view. Arthur had just enough time to clamber back to a stand. He tried to look nonchalant as he wiped his blade clean of blood and returned it to his belt.

“Arthur!” Morgana climbed down from her horse and ran to him. “There you are!”

“Yes, yes,” he said. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Her hands brushed over him as if looking for wounds.

“You’re all right!” She seemed surprised.

“Of course I am. Just came for a little hunt.” He was never going to admit that she might have saved his life just now. “No reason to be so worked up.”

“But I thought—!” Her eyes were over-wide, her hair was a mess, and… Was she still in her dressing gown?

“Thought what?” He grabbed her wrists. Tried to calm her.

“I just… dream… you died!”

“Dream? Just a nightmare, Morgana. You’re awake now.”

She took a deep breath, pulled back, looked calm for half a second, then she cocked her head to the side, knit her eyebrows, and raised her hand to find it spotted with Arthur’s blood. She shrieked.

Arthur hadn’t even noticed he’d been injured.

Morgana panicked. “Merlin! We have to get you to Merlin! He’ll know what to do.”

It took him five minutes to get Morgana back on her horse and headed toward the main hunting party. She kept trying to entreat him. “Ride back to Camelot with me. Please, Arthur. Humour me.”

He refused to give in. When he finally found the group again, they were celebrating a successful kill—a fat boar, one of the biggest Arthur had seen all season.

Morgana stayed back from the party, hiding partially in the trees owing to her state of dress.

When Uther saw he’d been injured, though, he agreed with Morgana.

“Best return. Let the physician see to your wound.”

“But Father!” He didn’t want to miss the rest of the hunt.

“Enough, Arthur!”

Arthur got the feeling that Uther might have been fine with him staying if Morgana wasn’t blubbering nearby. He always caved to her whims. And in this case, he even went one step further by sending Sir Leon back with them as a completely unnecessary escort.

Morgana didn’t smirk at him to celebrate her victory as they rode back to Camelot. She just urged him on faster.

Arthur dragged his feet through the door to Merlin’s chambers. Sir Leon walked behind him, trailed by Morgana. If not for that, he’d have gone to his own chambers, had his servant prepare him a hot bath and enjoyed a nice long soak. It really was just a scratch. Merlin wasn’t going to need to stitch him up or anything. It barely even hurt.

Merlin looked up from where he was making notes in a book. “Ah, Prince Arthur.” Merlin didn’t smile at him like he used to. “Sir Leon.” He nodded his head in acknowledgment. “And Lady Morgana!” He closed his book and stood. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“It’s nothing—” Arthur began to say, just as Sir Leon said, “Prince Arthur was injured during the hunt,” and Morgana said, “You have to save him, Merlin!”

Merlin scrunched up his eyebrows, trying to make sense of the onslaught. “You are injured, my lord?” Arthur cringed at the formality of Merlin’s tone.

“I’m fine,” he said, glaring back at Morgana.

“I’ll decide what treatment is merited, if any.” Merlin turned toward Morgana and Sir Leon. “If you’ll give us some privacy, I’ll tend to the prince.”

Sir Leon nodded, Morgana said, “Thank you!” and they both left.

“Now. Let’s have a look.”

“This is stupid,” he countered while shrugging off his leather hunting gilet.

Merlin started to peel back his shirt to have a look at his skin, but he’d gained a lot of muscle mass since winter and he wasn’t likely to get a better opportunity to show it off. Maybe if he could show Merlin how mature he was now, they could get their relationship back on track. Arthur pulled his shirt off, trying not to wince at his cut, which okay, was maybe a little more than a scratch.

Merlin clicked his tongue against his teeth and fetched a bowl of water to wash the wound. He worked in silence for several minutes until he said, “All right, out with it. Tell me how you managed this wound. I know you’re not so clumsy as to injure yourself during a hunt, and I can see you holding the story in.”

That easily, the dam burst. He tried to remain dignified, to put forward a proper, mature image. One Merlin might find suitable for his partner, but he couldn’t help himself. Morgana hadn’t been fit to share this with.

“Merlin, it was huge! I’ve never seen anything like it.” And he set about describing his encounter with the beast, conveniently leaving out the part where it was Morgana’s approach that distracted the creature long enough for him to get in a good offense.

“So it was like a serpent, but with four legs?”

“As I said, Merlin. Are you paying attention or not?”

Merlin paused in his work, then dropped the linen bandage he’d been wrapping around Arthur’s chest and raced to the bookshelf near the window. He pulled out a heavy looking book and flipped through the pages. “Here.” He showed Arthur a page with a drawing of the beast he’d encountered. “Is this what you fought?”

“Yes, that’s exactly it!”

Merlin went pale. “No,” he whispered, then said, “No!” He slammed the cover shut and threw the book to the side. It skidded across the floor and when it came to a rest, a heavy silence settled over the room.

Arthur had trouble forming his next words. “What’s wrong?”

“That was a questing beast, Your Highness, a powerful creature summoned by the powers of the Old Religion. There aren’t many who see the beast that live to tell of it.”

“I’m here,” he said, as if it weren’t obvious.

Merlin continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “If you’d been bitten, you’d have lost consciousness right away.”

“But I wasn’t bitten, just scratched.”

“And so the effect will take longer to manifest.”

“What effect is that?”

Merlin looked him in the eye so Arthur was sure he wasn’t telling one of his lies when he said, “death.”

Arthur looked at the wound. A trace of blood had already seeped through the bandaging. Even knowing Merlin wouldn’t lie to him about this, his first instinct was to deny it. “You must be mistaken, Merlin. Honestly, I feel all right. It stings a little, but that’s all.”

“It’s not the cut that’s the problem. It’s the poison.”

“Poison?”

“Don’t move. You need to be in bed, keep your heart rate low to slow the spread of the toxin.” He went over to his workbench, fumbled through his vials, then selected one and presented it to Arthur. “This is a sleeping draught, like the one I give Morgana to help her sleep sometimes. Drink it all.”

“Wha—?” Arthur sputtered. He didn’t want to go to sleep. He wasn’t tired at all, though the wound did burn a bit, now his attention was drawn to it.

Merlin knelt in front of him. “Please, my lord… _Arthur_.” Merlin pressed the vial into his palm, kept his hands closed around Arthur’s so that he couldn’t let go. “I swear on my life, I’ll find a way to save you. You can’t die like this. I won’t allow it.”

“Merlin…” He wanted to comfort the man; he looked as distressed as Morgana had. All he could do was drink the potion. He downed it, concentrated on the lingering warmth of Merlin’s hands squeezing his. Then something registered. Merlin had sworn, on his _life_. That didn’t sound like a good thing. “Don’t…” The draught was fast acting. His eyes slid shut. “Don’t put yourself in…” He wanted to say ‘danger’ but he wasn’t sure if he managed to get the word out or not.

-x-x-

A cooling sensation spread across Arthur’s forehead. It was the only part of his body that didn’t feel as if it were on fire. There was a noise like a whimper. His mind scrambled, trying to make sense of what was going on. He was lying in bed—he could tell by the familiar softness of his mattress and pillows—but for some reason, his room smelled strongly of lavender and chamomile.

“Merlin said he isn’t to be left alone under any circumstance.” He recognized Gaius’s voice.

“I will stay with him. He is my son!”

He opened his eyes just a sliver. Even that small effort was painful.

“Arthur!” his father said. “Arthur, can you hear me?”

Arthur couldn’t manage a response.

He’d… that’s right. He’d been injured. But Merlin had promised to heal him. Arthur looked about the room with his eyes as it was too much effort to move his whole head. Gaius rinsed a cloth in a bowl of water. His father sat on a stool beside the bed, held his hand. Morgana stood back in the corner, crying. And Merlin… Merlin was nowhere to be seen.

“Prince Arthur,” Gaius said, offering him a sip of something that tasted like muck. “This will help ease your pain.”

The medicine did more than that, it lulled him back to sleep.

-x-x-

Arthur had a vague awareness of someone standing close, of whispered promises meant only for him. Maybe he was dreaming. He tried to open his eyes. Couldn’t. ~~~~

-x-x-

He floated on the surface of a deep lake. The sun was high overhead, pounding down on him. The heat of it seeped through his skin and into his blood.

A woman’s voice whispered to him, called his name, commanded him. “Come.”

-x-x-

The sun scorched his face, his chest, the tops of his thighs, even the tips of his toes. It felt like he’d been floating here for days, and yet, the sun never set.

The command came again.

Arthur wondered if maybe it was the voice of his mother.

-x-x-

Arthur was tired of this place, of the excruciating heat and the endless day.

The voice was coming from below the surface. He turned toward it. The cool of the water soothed his sunburnt skin. He should have done this ages ago. ~~~~

He began to sink. That didn’t bother him. He didn’t need to breathe anymore.

A shadowed figured beckoned to him from the depths. “Arthur.”

Arthur opened his mouth, tried to say, “Mother?” but ice cold water slipped down his throat without his permission. That wasn’t supposed to happen here. He sputtered and coughed. Drew in a choked breath.

-x-x-

Arthur sat up in his bed, coughing. Gaius took a step back from him, a strange metal vial held in his hands.

“Arthur!” His father actually smiled at him, pat him on the arm. Unshed tears glistened at the corners of his eyes. “I thought I’d never see you open your eyes again.”

Arthur had never seen his father in such a state, not even when Morgana had been so sick last fall. “I’m all right, Father.” His voice came out as little more than a croak, but he forced himself to sit up and look well for his father’s sake if nothing else.

Uther stood and composed himself while Gaius checked him over and proclaimed him out of danger thanks to Merlin’s special remedy, whatever that was. The boy took his leave then and Uther left soon after saying, “I must tell the court of your recovery.”

Arthur had no shortage of curiosity about how it was that he’d been healed considering Merlin’s dire warnings, but even more important than that was finding out where the man had been all this time. For all his talk of not letting him die, it seemed he’d done awful little of the actual tending and not long after his father left, visitors started showing up. Morgana was first. Sir Kay followed soon after. Gwaine and Percival stopped by to tease him about how distressed Vivian, the daughter of Lord Olaf, had been upon hearing that Arthur was gravely ill.

“She fell to the ground weeping,” Gwaine said.

“Shame she’s so unpleasant,” Percival said.

Everyone Arthur cared about wanted to see him and express their pleasure at his sudden recovery. Everyone that is, except Merlin, and after hours of waiting for the man to show, Arthur’s patience ran out. He rolled out of bed, wincing at the residual pain in his shoulder.

Merlin may have been worried for him, but he’d still chosen to keep his distance and Arthur was sick of it. Did he think that staying away made things easier for Arthur? If that was the case, he was wrong, and Arthur was determined to set the record straight.

He thundered into Merlin’s chambers without knocking, having not even bothered putting on a proper shirt, just trousers and the bandages that he still sported around his wound.

“Where is he, Gaius?”

“Prince Arthur… uhhh… Merlin?”

“Of course I mean Merlin! Did he think I wouldn’t notice him missing? What is the point of a court physician if he refuses to treat the prince?!”

“He wasn’t refusing to treat you, my lord.”

“No?”

“I… I wasn’t lying. It was his remedy that cured you.”

Something in Gaius’s tone set off alarm bells in Arthur’s head.

“You’re hiding something.” Arthur took a few steps forward. Gaius looked to the side to avoid his eye. “If he made the remedy, then where is he?”

“He, uh… had to go out to collect the main ingredient. He sent it ahead so you’d get it faster. He’s likely on his way back right now.”

“Likely? As in, he might _not_ be on his way back?” And what was this business with sending it ahead? What sense did that make? Merlin was a decent enough horseman to have returned the medicine himself.

“Well, he did say it would be very dangerous.”

Arthur froze in place. _I swear on my life…_

“How dangerous?”

Gaius finally gave up resisting him then. Maybe he’d noticed how genuinely worried Arthur was.

Gaius turned to pick up a few papers off the bench behind him.

“He wrote me this. And this,” he held out a folded paper to Arthur, “he left for you. I was supposed to give it to you if he didn’t return within a week. It’s only been three days.” He paused. “I haven’t had the courage to open mine yet.”

Arthur broke the plain wax seal and looked over the paper. Both sides were blank.

“What kind of letter is this?”

Gaius hung his head. “The kind he didn’t want you to read unless he wasn’t going to make it back.”

“What does that mean? He’s abandoning us?”

“No. I think… the words will become visible only when his life expires.”

There was a split second where Arthur realized that Gaius knew about Merlin’s magic too, knew that he was still using it, a moment where something special between him and Merlin was no longer their secret alone. It was an ugly moment where Arthur felt suddenly demoted on Merlin’s scale of importance, but he pushed all that aside, because Gaius was talking about something so horrible, he couldn’t even process the thought.

He said, “What?”

“I assume these letters are his goodbyes.”

Arthur grabbed Gaius by the fabric of his shirt, ignoring the throbbing that remained in his shoulder, and demanded every single shred of information he had about where Merlin had gone. Gaius was surprisingly helpful after that. He was worried too and seemed glad for the excuse of the prince bullying him into a confession. Within the hour, Arthur was riding through the castle gates. He’d never heard of this Isle of the Blessed before, but it sounded like a place of magic and no wonder his father would leave it off the maps.

Arthur rode hard, barely pausing long enough to rest so that he didn’t kill his horse. The route through the White Mountains was clear this time of year and Arthur made quick progress. He rode through the night and by the time he entered the Valley of the Fallen Kings, the sun was peeking above the horizon.

Arthur kept an eye on his letter, hoping every time he looked that the page would still be blank. He wasn’t able to check through the night, but as the sun began to rise, he pulled the paper out once again and to his horror, patches of faded lettering were beginning to show on the page.

“No.” He squinted, but the ink was too pale to make out. He still had time. He spurred his horse into a trot, the quickest he could manage through this rough terrain.

By mid-morning, the writing was near legible. As Arthur turned onto a narrow pathway and descended down a rough set of steps to pass between a pair of moss covered statues, a rider came into view, approaching from the opposite direction. Arthur drew his sword and slowed his horse even further. He’d never make it to Merlin if he was killed along the way.

It quickly became apparent that the rider was not much of a threat; the figure hunched over his horse’s neck, possibly sleeping. It was a wonder he’d remained on the animal at all.

“Hello there!”

No response.

“Are you well?”

Then the figure resolved into a familiar shape, familiar features.

“Merlin!”

Arthur threw himself down from his horse and ran to Merlin’s side. “Merlin! Wake up!” He shook the man and when he received not so much as a groan in response, looked again at his letter. The ink was still a strange grey colour, but it was readable.

Dear Arthur,  
I know you will be angry with me when you read this letter, but I don’t regret what I’ve done. I hope that brings you some small comfort. My only sadness is that I won’t be able to be by your side when you grow into your destiny.

It has been my greatest honour to have served you. Remember your lessons, follow your heart, and I know that one day you will be the greatest king this land has ever known.

Never lose heart. I truly believe that someday, we will meet again.

Eternally yours,  
Merlin

This couldn’t be happening. He pulled on Merlin’s body, slid him out of the saddle. Arthur managed to cushion the fall, but it was not graceful.

He surveyed Merlin for wounds and found a huge hole in the front of his shirt. The edges were singed as if with fire. The wound underneath was as bad as any Arthur had seen from the battlefield. His flesh was red with blood and black with ash. The wound was rough, as though there were whole pieces of flesh missing, burned away perhaps.

Hot tears rolled down his cheeks. He didn’t even try to stop them. Sir Kay once told him that no man was worth crying over, but surely some were.

Arthur felt for a pulse at Merlin’s neck with trembling fingers. Waited. Felt nothing. Waited again, willed his fingers to be still, and was rewarded with a tiny flutter, the weakest of heartbeats.

Arthur dragged Merlin off the path and lay him down. His skin was pale and his body cold. Arthur shrugged off his cloak and draped it over him like a blanket, set about gathering a few twigs to light a fire, then collected large pieces of wood to keep it going. He kept an eye on his letter, but nothing he managed to do could keep the ink from setting. Merlin’s skin was still cold so he divested himself of his armour, tucked his gambeson under Merlin’s head as a pillow, and climbed in under the cloak. He lay on his side, wrapped his top arm and leg over Merlin to offer his body heat, carefully avoiding the wound. He held Merlin close but found no pleasure in it.

“Don’t go,” he whispered into the side of Merlin’s neck. He tightened his grip, tried willing his body heat into Merlin’s flesh. “Please.” It was nearly a sob.

“What is it that troubles you so?”

Arthur’s muscles twitched all at once and he jumped to his feet, pulled the dagger he kept in his boot.

An old man stood a few paces away, dressed in dark robes. He had a head of white hair and a matching beard trimmed short. At one time, Merlin had looked his equal in age, but not any longer. Hadn’t done for years now.

“Who are you?”

“Fear not, young Pendragon. I mean you no harm.”

The man approached. Arthur brandished his dagger. “I asked for your name!”

“Teliesin, I am called. I am kin to your man there.” The intruder waved a hand toward Merlin.

“I’ve met all of Merlin’s family.” It was only Gaius and Freya, now that Freya’s father had passed on this past spring.

“Oh, no. I don’t mean by blood. I’m referring to our nature. He and I were both born of the old magic.”

Magic? Magic could be used for healing.

“Can you help him? He’s dying. That’s why I’m upset.”

The man chuckled. “Oh, Emrys is not dying. His time is far, far off.”

“Emrys? You’ve mistaken him for someone else.”

“I have made no mistake. I knew you, Arthur Pendragon, did I not? Some people are too important for just one name and Emrys is one of them.”

“He’s called Merlin,” Arthur insisted. “Can you help him or not?”

The man moved closer.

“Ah!” Arthur kept his dagger out. “You make one wrong move and I won’t hesitate.”

Teliesin didn’t appear to be frightened of him. He knelt beside Merlin and put a hand on his forehead. Nothing seemed to happen.

“There is a place nearby,” Teliesin said, “that will aid in your friend’s recovery. Have you the strength to take him there?”

“I’ll do it.”

Merlin was a thin man, but he was heavier than he looked. Still, Arthur was able to get Merlin rolled onto his cloak. He clung to the fabric and pulled the man along the ground, kicking twigs and stones out of the way as he went. He might have been able to carry Merlin over his shoulder if circumstances were a little different, but there was his wound to consider.

“It’s not far,” Teliesin said, and he was right. He led the way to a crack in a wall of rock not 200 paces from where Arthur had set camp.

He expected it to be dark inside the cave but it was not. Crystals, larger than he’d ever seen, sprouted from the rock and each one gave off a pure, beautiful light.

“What is this place?”

“This, young Pendragon, is where magic began.”

“And it will help Merlin?”

“Oh, yes. Emrys can draw strength from this place. It will speed his recovery.”

“These crystals… I’ve seen something like this before in the vaults at Camelot.”

“You refer to the Crystal of Neahtid.”

“Yes.”

“Very astute, for the Crystal of Neahtid was plundered from this very cave centuries ago when I served the kings of this land as a seer.”

Merlin had told him stories of seers before. “They say the Crystal of Neahtid can reveal the future.”

The man hummed in agreement. “The past and the present, too, for those strong enough to see it. These crystals you see here are the same.”

Arthur gazed into the crystal nearest to him. He saw nothing but the pretty light. “I don’t see any visions.”

“No! I should think not! Your Merlin though, he would not have the same experience as you.”

“He can see the future?”

“If he chooses.”

Several things suddenly became abundantly clear to Arthur, not the least of which was that Merlin knew something about their future together. That was why he was always saying the things that he did. And that meant that what Teliesin said was true. Merlin was going to be okay. He turned back to the old man, intending to thank him, but he was gone.

Arthur rearranged the cloak over Merlin’s body and the gambeson beneath his head, then leaned against one of the few rocks he could find without protruding crystals and watched over Merlin until his breathing grew deep and steady. Arthur tried to get some rest as well, but found it difficult. There was something strange about this place.

He’d been in caves before. Not just the questing beast’s lair, but the one under Camelot that housed the springs that the city’s wells drew from, and several others within Camelot’s borders. There were always noises in a cave. The faint echo of dripping water. The hint of a breeze from the entrance. There was none of that here. Just an unnerving silence. For as tired as he was, it took a long time for him to fall asleep.

When Arthur awoke, he found Merlin shifting restlessly.

“Merlin? Can you hear me?” He shook the man’s shoulder, peeked beneath the cloak to check the man’s injury and found it, amazingly, to now be a mass of pink skin. Still only partially healed and looking raw and sore, but not like the mortal wound that surely it would have been on any other man.

“Arthur?” Merlin’s voice was a scratchy approximation of what it was supposed to be, but Arthur was overjoyed.

“Merlin! You’re all right! I was afraid I’d lost you!”

Merlin groaned, struggled to sit up. Arthur helped him to lean against the rock as he had been.

“What are you doing here?”

Arthur could have well asked the same question of Merlin, but under the circumstances, he chose to just answer. “I came looking for you. Gaius gave me your letter.”

Merlin went wide-eyed for a moment. “I didn’t think… Gaius wasn’t supposed to give you that letter for a week. It can’t have been that long already.”

Arthur shook his head. “I forced him to confess all he knew as soon as I was well enough to be out of bed.”

“But you’re all right?”

“I am.”

“Let me see.”

Arthur loosened the laces at the top of his shirt and pulled it to the side to show the scab where the questing beast had clawed him.

Merlin traced a finger through the air over the mending wound. Arthur’s skin tingled as if the gesture had been a physical caress.

“What did you do, Merlin? I was the one who was supposed to die and somehow I’m fine, and you have a huge wound on your chest.”

And so Merlin explained it all to him, told him about the sorceress that had helped him at the Isle of the Blessed by giving him water from the Cup of Life. Told him about the pair of magical boxes he’d used to send the healing water to Gaius. Explained how the sorceress had betrayed him, cursing Freya to die as payment for her help instead of taking Merlin’s life as he’d asked her to do.

“We fought.” He touched a light hand to his chest, wincing slightly. “She used fire. I struck her down with lightning. Her death restored the balance of nature.”

Arthur soaked it all in, knowing he would likely never fully understand all this talk of magic and balance. “So… Freya is out of danger?”

“She’s fine.”

Merlin furrowed his brow suddenly. “Where are we?” He looked about. “The Crystal Cave? So we’re in the Valley of the Fallen Kings, then.”

“Yes. There was a man, Teliesin. He showed me this cave. Said it would help you.”

“Teliesin? You’re certain that’s the name he gave?”

“Yes, why?”

“I was sure he died centuries ago.”

Arthur didn’t know what to say. The man hadn’t looked like a ghost, though he had disappeared rather abruptly.

“He said you can see the future in these crystals.”

“Yes.”

“And have you done it? Do you know what the future holds?” Arthur held his breath waiting for a response.

“The crystals are tricky, Arthur. You may think you know what you see, but it turns out that it was something else. They don’t lie, but they don’t tell the whole truth either. It’s easy to misinterpret, nearly impossible not to.”

“But you _can_ see things? Visions? You must have _some_ idea.”

Merlin’s response was reluctant at best. “Yes. These crystals have shown me many things.”

“About me?”

“Some.”

Arthur desperately wanted to know if they showed something about the two of them, but Merlin would never answer truthfully, even if he asked.

“How do you feel now?” Arthur said.

“Tired.”

“You should rest some more then.”

“No, we need to get back to Camelot. Your father will be missing you. And you’ve not been well lately. You should still be resting in your chambers, not riding through an enchanted valley.”

Merlin looked away from him then, caught his eye on one of the crystals. His body went rigid, his eyes wide. It was clear that he was seeing one of those visions they were just talking about. He began to tremble. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face. Without thinking, Arthur reached out and wiped the drop away. It was enough to draw Merlin back from the vision, but he wasn’t happy about it. He snapped, “Don’t touch me!”

Arthur flinched and leaned back from the ferocity of the words.

“Sorry,” Merlin said, his breath ragged, his eyes strangely dilated in the light of the cave. “Just… don’t.”

“Why not? You know I’m not going to hurt you. Is that what you thought you saw? You said yourself the visions are hard to interpret. I would never do that. You have to believe me.” He barely held himself back from adding, ‘I still love you. I always will.’

“I know that, Arthur. Really, I do. These visions, they’re powerful is all. I can feel it, a little bit at least. Here.” He put a hand over his heart.

“Then what’s wrong? What did you see?”

“Nothing.” At Arthur’s skeptical look, he rephrased. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“Was it the two of us?”

“Yes.”

“What were we doing? Facing down an enemy?”

“No.”

“At court?”

“Leave it be, Arthur. The future will be what it is and neither you nor I can change it.”

“So it’s something bad then. Is that why you don’t want to tell me?”

“No, I didn’t mean that.”

“Then what is it? Do you think you can’t trust me?”

“You know that’s not true.”

“Then I don’t understand.”

“You will. I promise. Someday, you’ll understand. If you don’t figure it out, I’ll tell you myself.”

“Really?”

“I swear it.”

Arthur acquiesced and with Merlin’s permission, helped him to his feet, though why that form of touch was acceptable and the other wasn’t, Arthur couldn’t reason out. Maybe that was another thing he’d have to wait to discover.

Merlin shuffled his way out of the cave and Arthur led him back to the horses.

When the sight of the citadel loomed large on the horizon, Arthur paused. A lot had happened in the last few days. He reached out his arm to halt Merlin as well.

“I almost died this week and so did you. I don’t want a repeat of this.”

Merlin chuckled. “That sounds like what I was going to say to you.”

The guards greeted them at the gate. “Your father wishes to see you immediately, Your Highness.”

Arthur dismounted, gave Merlin one last look before setting off for the throne room.

His father wasn’t happy at all.

“But Merlin was in danger!”

“The physician?” His father asked as though he could possibly be speaking of a different Merlin. “You’re only recently recovered from your death bed and you ride off to rescue _the physician?!_ ”

“He was responsible for my recovery! I was honour-bound to see him to safety.” Arthur lied as best he could, but since that wasn’t the real reason he’d gone after Merlin, he couldn’t help but think that his father could see straight through him.

Uther shook his head. “You’re going to have to learn, Arthur, that some men are here for you. They’ll give their life for you because you are important. You’re the next king of Camelot, or you will be, if you don’t get yourself killed to save one replaceable man!”

Arthur balled his fists. Merlin wasn’t replaceable. There may be other physicians out there, maybe even physicians with more knowledge or skill than Merlin, but none of them were the person Arthur loved. But then, he couldn’t tell his father that. Who knew how he would react. It wouldn’t be good. At minimum, Uther would banish Merlin, even though he’d never acted the least bit inappropriately. Arthur was the one pursuing things. He held his tongue and changed the subject.

“The biennial tournament is coming up, Father. Why don’t we focus on that? If I win the tournament, will you agree to let me take on the proper responsibilities of a prince? I can lead the army now. I’m ready.”

“You think I’m going to allow you to compete in the tournament after what you just did? You’ll be lucky if I let you watch from the stands.”

“But _Father!_ ”

“Don’t test me, Arthur. You will do as I say, and that is final!”

Arthur stormed back to his chambers and tried to concoct a way that he could compete without his father knowing. The best he could come up with involved feigning illness, dressing as a foreign knight, and keeping his helmet on the entire time. There were several flaws with this plan. Most notably, he’d need Merlin’s help to convince his father he was truly ill, and Merlin would rather he never fought at all, worrying as he did about injuries. And where would he get the armour and clothing of a foreigner? Morgana’s maid was the blacksmith’s daughter and he’d seen her mend Morgana's dresses with ease, but he’d barely spoken three words together to her in his entire life. And finally, he’d never get away with always wearing his helmet. The very first match he won, the crowd would be expecting to see his face. And when he was inevitably discovered, it would be Merlin and Gwen that bore the brunt of the punishment. No, it wasn’t a very good plan.

In the end, his father did let him watch from the stands. He spent the whole tournament scowling, daydreaming that he’d managed to pull off his scheme.

Lucan didn’t complete in the archery, though Arthur had watched him in training and he was every bit as good as he was two years ago, better actually. He was stronger now, had more endurance at twenty. In under a year he would be eligible for knighthood. Arthur wondered if he’d take it. It was atypical for a man meaning to become a knight to give up an opportunity to compete in a tournament, and yet he trained in practice each day more dedicated than the last. He might not be seeking glory on the tournament fields, but he had hardly given up.

After the archery, the joust began. Arthur itched to complete. He’d been practicing with the lance a good deal lately. Two of Camelot’s youngest knights, Sir Geraint and Sir Leon, passed through the primary as well as two knights from foreign lands.

The feast in the evening was remarkably similar to the previous biennial tournament, with Morgana heaping praise on the day’s favourites. Out among the main body of attendees, Gaius sat next to Merlin to keep him company. Arthur tried not to watch the man. Tried not to think on what he knew, what he’d seen in those crystals. Did he know the outcome of tomorrow’s joust already? How could such a thing even be possible?

Arthur left the banquet early that night, tired of faking smiles and listening to everyone praise the victors.

He’d already dismissed George for the night when a knock came at his door.

“Enter.”

He heard the creak of the hinges, the clack of the latch as the door closed again. When he looked to the entryway, he found Merlin standing awkwardly with his back to the door, as if he thought he might be in the wrong place and was debating whether or not he should leave.

This wasn’t how things were supposed to be between them.

Arthur was already in his sleep clothes—not what would normally be considered presentable for company—but this was Merlin. He wasn’t going to turn the man away. “I was about to read by the fire. Come sit with me.”

“I won’t be long.” Merlin stayed where he was.

“That’s okay,” Arthur said, taking a seat and gesturing for Merlin to do the same.

Merlin took a few steps closer and paused. “I wanted to apologize.”

Arthur nodded to the extra chair again and refused to respond until Merlin was sitting. “For what?”

“I know how much it meant to you to compete today. You’d been looking forward to it for years. I assume this was your punishment for coming after me when I went to the Isle of the Blessed.”

“None of that is your fault, and I don’t regret what I did. How are you healing?”

“All better now. Not even a scar.”

“Can I see?”

Merlin gave him a look that said he thought Arthur was overstepping their boundaries, but Arthur didn’t mean anything by it.

“It’s just… You said it yourself. Sometimes you lie to protect me. I want to be sure you’re all right.”

Merlin sighed, reached for his belt. Arthur moved to stand in front of him so that he could get a proper look in the low evening light. Merlin sat up straight and lifted his shirt to expose the skin of his belly and chest. Arthur let out a breath and dropped to his knees. It was just as Merlin had described. Arthur wouldn’t have believed he’d ever been injured if he hadn’t seen the wound with his own eyes. He let out a shuddering breath and let a finger trail across a short reach of bare skin. It seemed the unblemished skin must be an illusion, but it wasn’t, and Merlin’s muscles jumped as his finger made contact.

“I thought you were going to die,” he whispered. “Right there in my arms. I’ve never felt so helpless.”

“I’m sorry I worried you.”

Arthur pulled back and only then did he realize just the sort of position they were in—him on his knees in front of Merlin while the man sat exposing flesh that was normally left covered. His pulse leapt into a frenzy, and he licked his lips. He wanted desperately for Merlin to spread his knees more so that he could shuffle closer, grab onto Merlin’s hips, help divest him of a few more articles of clothes.

“Arthur, I think you should get back to your chair now.” He lowered his shirt back into place.

“Why?” He looked up at the man, honestly confused. What was Merlin waiting for? Arthur wasn’t just willing, he was eager. Why wasn’t that enough?

“You know why.”

He didn’t, but he stood anyway and returned to his chair, afraid of what Merlin would say if he pressed any further. He tried to recall Merlin’s exact wording when he’d first confessed his love. He’d asked if Merlin would ever love him the way he wanted, and Merlin never said that he wouldn’t. He’d avoided the question, claiming he didn’t know. Arthur didn’t believe him. It was one of his only-to-protect-you lies. If things would never be that way between them, then surely Merlin would just say so, spare Arthur all this frustration. Then again, maybe he just didn’t want to hurt Arthur’s feelings and hoped he’d move on.

Merlin’s gentle rejection didn’t stop Arthur from thinking about what it was that he’d been wanting in that moment. He thought about it that night after Merlin left as he lay in bed with only his hands as company, the next morning while he was meant to be reviewing the grain reports, into the afternoon while he took his meal alone in his chambers, and through the next week until a new fantasy took hold.

He knew just what he would have done—helped Merlin with his trousers and smallclothes while the man lifted his hips off the chair for a moment. Once he was bare, Arthur would have looked his fill for several long moments before dipping his head for a taste. The musky scent that would have greeted his nose would have sent his blood boiling. Merlin would have been ready for him, wanting it. He would have taken as much of Merlin’s firm cock in his mouth as he could, would have sucked hard and bobbed his head like he’d seen Madoc do those years ago.

It wouldn’t have even mattered to him if he choked or gagged. He would have loved every minute as Merlin moaned his name and urged him on. When he finished, Merlin would have kissed him until he was gasping for breath, then he would have taken Arthur to bed and there they would have stayed until the morning sun forced them apart.

It probably wasn’t healthy to be fantasizing in this way, given Merlin’s clear lack of interest, and yet, some deep part of him couldn’t let go of the possibility that maybe, someday…


	8. Giving in and Giving up

Between Arthur’s seventeenth and eighteenth birthdays, Merlin’s hair lost almost all of its remaining grey and he suddenly looked much more age appropriate. He’d never thought that Merlin was unpleasant to look at, but lately he didn’t want to look away. Arthur wasn’t sure if that was the cause or if it was just his own development, but nearly every morning his body would wake up wanting. There was nothing he could do about it. If he indulged in the morning, he would only have more problems later in the day, as if his body knew he would give in again if it made its demands clear. And so, his usual strategy was to do nothing.

There were abnormalities though, changes in his routine that called for a different approach. Knowing that Merlin was due to visit him first thing in the morning for a therapeutic massage on a sore calf muscle was cause for such a change. He’d have to deal with the consequences later in the day, but Arthur would die of embarrassment if Merlin caught him sporting an erection from such minimal intimacy as his hands on Arthur’s leg. The only solution was for Arthur to rid his body of its early morning eagerness before the physician showed up. Merlin was always late though, so Arthur had a little time. He waited until George arrived with his breakfast tray, then sent the boy away.

His bed curtains were drawn tight, keeping out the worst of the chill morning air, as he pushed his blankets and sheets down past his knees for easier access. He let his left leg fall out to the side, knee bent. He grasped his shaft in one hand, tugged at his stones with the other, and imagined how much better it would feel if it were Merlin’s hands touching him like this.

He didn’t allow himself as much time as he would have liked to savour the sensation. He needed to be cleaned up and dressed by the time Merlin arrived. He moved his foreskin up to cover his glans, slid it back down, repeated the process with a subtle twist of his wrist that he’d recently taken a liking to, occasionally pausing to sweep his thumb gently across the sensitive bare head.

He pressed his head back into his pillow and groaned.

When the knock at his chamber door came, he was too engaged in his pleasure to respond. Any guard or servant would turn back if Arthur didn’t reply. What he wasn’t counting on was Merlin waltzing right into his chambers without permission.

“Arthur,” Merlin said, his voice completely at ease, “I saw George in the hall so I know you’re awake.”

That was enough to startle Arthur into a response. “What the hell are you doing here? Get out!” Of all the times for Merlin to be on schedule!

“We have an appointment, if you’ll recall.”

The knowledge that someone was on the other side of his bed curtains should have been enough to deflate Arthur’s enthusiasm, but this was _Merlin—_ the man who wanted his final message to Arthur to read “eternally yours”—and his body responded with the opposite reaction. Arthur stilled his hand but let a short little moan slip on accident.

Merlin fell silent. “Arthur?” he asked after a moment. “Are you okay?” A pause. “Do you need help?”

“Yes!” He croaked out before he could stop himself, not sure which question he was responding to.  Then the sound of quick footsteps grew closer and Arthur managed to correct himself, “I mean, no! No, I’m fine! You should leave.”

“Arthur? You don’t sound yourself. Are you sure you’re feeling well?”

Arthur restarted his work. He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help himself, not when he was already so far along. He could feel the familiar tension build. His stones were drawing further up toward his body. There was no way he could stop now. His wrist worked in quick, steady pumps. He felt sure the sound of his heavy breathing was quiet enough that Merlin couldn’t hear, but…

“Ah…. I’ll… just… Sorry. I’ll come back later then, shall I?”

It seemed Arthur wasn’t quite as stealthy as he’d thought. Merlin’s boots sounded on the floor as he turned back toward the door.

“No, wait! _Merlin!_ **”**

The boots stopped. “ _Arthur_.”

And a scenario flashed through his head where Merlin wasn’t voicing a complaint, but a desire. He imagined Merlin fumbling with the laces of his breeches, his cock hard and leaking with the knowledge of what Arthur was doing. Arthur bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood to keep from moaning as he spurted his seed onto his belly and chest.

He took a slow breath to calm himself, but nothing could fix the deep flush of embarrassment that painted his cheeks. He swallowed heavily, said, “I’ll be decent in a minute,” in a rough voice while he wiped himself clean with his nightshirt.

He had to sit on his bed for a full minute before summoning enough courage to leave the safety of his bed curtains. He padded over to his wash basin and rinsed his hands and face. He glanced over his shoulder, found that Merlin had—thankfully—seated himself facing the opposite direction at Arthur’s table.

George hadn’t yet laid out his clothing for the day but Arthur managed well enough on his own. He straightened the hem of his shirt, adjusted the laces at his collar, and brushed stray bits of dust from his jacket. He wished he kept a mirror behind his changing screen so that he could check the lay of his hair, too. Partially because he wanted to make sure he looked presentable and partially because every moment that he could find something purposeful to do was another moment he didn’t have to spend facing Merlin.

He put his hands to his cheeks. They still felt over-warm. He’d splash more cool water on them if only he thought it would help.

When he ran out of things to do to stall, he forced himself to walk over to the table and present himself before Merlin. He could feel the man’s eyes on him now and he looked up to meet his gaze because he was a leader and leaders take responsibility. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

Merlin cleared his throat. “No, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have let myself in.” There was a quiver in his voice.

Arthur didn’t want Merlin to feel he needed permission to enter his chambers. He wanted Merlin to be able to come right in as though the room were his own, no matter what was going on inside.

“Barring that I should have left when you first asked.”  

Arthur didn’t like that idea any better. He never wanted to have to send Merlin away. He shifted topics, hoping they would never speak of this incident again. “So, umm. Is it all right if I sit here?”

“Actually, it would be best if you could,” Merlin hesitated, “lie on your bed. Face down.”

“Of course.”

Arthur tried his best to act as if nothing were amiss, but the sheets were still a touch sweaty and he could smell himself in the air lingering above the mattress, knew Merlin wouldn’t be able to miss the scent either. This had to be the most mortifying event of his entire life and having his arse on display as he lay on his stomach only made matters worse. The only good thing about the position was that Merlin wouldn’t be able to see his blush. He pushed his pillows to the side and used his arms folded above him instead so that he didn’t have to strain his neck to breathe.

Merlin sat on the edge of the bed next to him, facing Arthur’s feet, the side of his thigh brushing lightly against Arthur’s.  He pulled Arthur’s trouser leg up to expose his calf.

There was a pause for a moment where Merlin didn’t even move. Then he said, “Maybe I should have Gaius do this for you in future.”

Arthur turned his head to the side. “I don’t want Gaius,” he said, not aware of the double meaning until the words were already out of his mouth. He wanted to explain the comment away, but knew anything he could say would only make it worse. It wasn’t as if he could deny his attraction to Merlin. They were both well aware. He put his head back down and wished this whole thing over.

Merlin laid a single hand on Arthur’s calf, his palm flush against the curve of the muscle. “I know. I’m sorry,” he said, sounding strangely sad. He got on with it then, pressed the tips of his fingers into one of Arthur’s sore spots. “Here?”

Merlin was in physician mode now and a small amount of Arthur’s discomfort melted away. “Yeah.”

“You know how this goes. It’ll probably hurt a little bit at first—”

“I know. It gets better. Your massages always help in the long run.”

What had started as leg cramps in the middle of the night had spilled over to the daytime hours. It was beginning to affect his training, but he had confidence in Merlin’s abilities.

“Good.”

Merlin started with light touches to warm up the muscles, then increased the pressure to work out the tight knots. Arthur tried not to react in any way, but couldn’t help wincing when Merlin pressed the pads of his thumbs hard into the worst of his sore spots. He didn’t relent until the tension suddenly melted away. After that, the massage became much more pleasant, his mind began to wander, and Arthur was reminded of why he’d decided to expel some of his sexual tension before Merlin got here. As embarrassing as this whole situation was, it would have been far worse if he’d done nothing. He might have found it impossible to resist rubbing himself off against the mattress while Merlin touched him. It didn’t make him feel completely better, but it was enough of a relief to make room for other negative emotions to creep in. There were plenty to be had.

He should be used to Merlin rejecting him by now, but each time something like this happened, he somehow still expected that Merlin would change his mind. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. It felt like Merlin was toying with him. He was getting tired of having to satisfy himself and he was definitely old enough now for some reciprocation. Even a little kiss would go a long way in Arthur’s opinion.

Gwaine had already kissed three girls that Arthur knew of. There were probably more. To be honest, there was probably more than kissing too. And here Merlin didn’t even want to give him a medically necessary touch. He bounced back and forth about what he should do. One minute he was ready to give up on Merlin, ready to look for someone new. The next, he was convinced that his failure was all down to his clumsy attempts at sparking Merlin’s interest. Gwaine didn’t get girls to kiss him by pleasuring himself in front of them or by suddenly spouting his undying love without some more subtle prelude. What Arthur needed was a strategy, a proper plan, but he didn’t have the first idea of what such a plan would look like.

-x-x-

On the day of Lucan’s knighting ceremony, the man unexpectedly requested a private audience. Arthur allowed him a time shortly after midday in his chambers.

“I’ve been thinking about Madoc a lot these past few weeks and I realized that I never thanked you for your discretion when he died. I know some of the knights knew about us, but you never shared the details of his parting words with anyone. I thank you for that.”

“What was it like?”

“My lord?”

“Being in a relationship like that, with someone so much older?”

Lucan had the grace to blush, but he didn’t sound embarrassed. “I was his student. He taught me just about everything I know—from fighting and killing to kissing and loving. I know most people frown on relationships like ours. And to be honest, I sometimes wonder if he would have had an interest in me had I been older. I think he liked knowing that he was my first, with everything. He liked teaching me.

“Why do you ask?” He paused, looked at the ground. “No, I didn’t mean that. I don’t want to pry, just… I thought maybe you had your eye on someone in particular…”

“What?”

“It’s just… I see the way you look at the physician, Merlin. He’s handsome and growing more so every day it seems.”

Arthur kept his mouth shut.

“Someone like Merlin… I don’t think he’s interested in being your teacher.”

“You’re saying I need to be experienced?”

“No… not necessarily. I just mean… With that sort of relationship, there’s a certain dynamic. A balance of power that some might see as uneven. I think Merlin’s the sort that would rather things be more… equitable.”

“I don’t know how to do that. I’ve known him my whole life. He practically _was_ my teacher when I was little. I’d escape my tutors and play in his chambers. I thought he was helping me hide, but really he was teaching me all sorts of things about healing and anatomy.”

“You’ll have to find a way to make him see you as an adult.”

“Do you… have any advice?”

Lucan thought on it. “When you approach him, be confident. Like this.” And Lucan looked Arthur in the eye, took a step, then another and put himself right in front of Arthur, close enough to touch—and he did. Reached out to smooth his hand down Arthur’s shoulder.

“It’s impossible to ignore me like this, isn’t it?”

Arthur nodded dumbly. It was a small thing, but no one had ever touched him like this. This wasn’t like Merlin’s massages. This was a caress.

“I’ve never kissed anyone before,” Arthur blurted out like an idiot.

“Do you want me to show you how?”

Arthur nodded. No matter what Lucan said about him not needing experience, he wasn’t going to impress Merlin with a bad kiss.

“You need to pay attention to your partner’s reactions to everything you do—his breathing, the dilation of his eyes, the flushing of his skin, even the tension in his muscles. You want to build his anticipation, and the only way to know if you’re doing a good job is to be observant.”

Lucan moved his hand back up Arthur’s arm and over his shoulder. He rested his fingers on the side of Arthur’s neck, brought his thumb to Arthur’s cheek. What was he waiting for? Arthur had thought he was going to kiss him, just lean forward and press their lips together. It seemed so simple. He swallowed a lump that was trying to form in his throat.

Lucan moved his hand again, pushed his thumb over Arthur’s lips. Arthur’s mouth fell open just a fraction.

“Figure out what he likes,” Lucan whispered as he pushed his finger past Arthur’s lips. “Use it to your advantage.”  He raked the blunt nail of his thumb gently across the roof of Arthur’s mouth as he retreated, pulled Arthur’s bottom lip down, trailed his damp thumb over Arthur’s chin.

Arthur tipped his head back a fraction as Lucan leaned in close. His mouth was dry.

“Let him set the pace.” Lucan tilted his head to the side and Arthur could feel his warm breath ghosting across his lips.

Arthur’s heart hammered. When was he going to get on with it? This was agonizing.

Lucan began to pull away and Arthur surged forward before it was too late. It was just a tiny little peck of a kiss. Arthur hadn’t even had time to appreciate it before Lucan pulled out of range, smiling. He said, “See?”

-x-x-

Arthur thought quite a lot on Lucan’s lesson and decided that he would never be able to pull off such a feat with Merlin unless he could get enough practice under his belt that his mind didn’t go blank at the mere proximity of someone else’s lips to his own. The opportunity came a few weeks later when King Rodor and his daughter, Princess Mithian, visited Camelot for negotiations over the disputed border region of Gedref.

Mithian was surprisingly pleasant to be around. She even liked hunting and they could talk about it for hours. She was pretty too, on an objective level. Arthur didn’t have any particular physical attraction to her, but when he found himself in a conversation with her outside the stables—waiting while the stable boys saddled their horses for an afternoon ride—he tried to pay attention to Mithian the way Lucan had suggested and noticed that she kept glancing at his lips.

A minor commotion at the forge drew his attention over her shoulder and he spotted Merlin walking across the courtyard. Merlin paused when he noticed Arthur looking and any reservations Arthur had about using someone unwittingly for kissing practice vanished from his mind. Maybe if Merlin saw him kissing Mithian he’d realize Arthur was perfectly old enough to be kissing anyone he liked. Maybe he’d be jealous. Maybe he would march right over here, pull Arthur away under the guise of some official matter, sneak them off to a secluded alcove, and snog Arthur’s brains out.

“Everything all right, Arthur?” Mithian said.

He smiled down at her, his mind still supplying him with the phantom touch of Merlin’s hands roaming freely across his body, of being pulled flush together, of—

Mithian was smiling back, a pink flush sprouting on her cheeks and before it was too late, he bent his head down to kiss her on the lips. When she didn’t pull back, he worked his lips over hers, just testing the feel, and turned his head enough that he could see Merlin’s reaction out of the corner of his eye. He hadn’t moved an inch, and Arthur thought he might have given him a little shock. When Merlin finally did react, it wasn’t at all what Arthur had been hoping for. He simply turned his head away, expression blank, and continued walking.

The sting of Merlin’s reaction bore into him, and he pulled away from Mithian. She slowly opened her eyes and smiled up at him. He suddenly felt sick with himself. She thought he liked her now. And she was happy about that. He was going to have to hurt her. Too late, he realized he already had. She just didn’t know it yet.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No!” she said, reaching out for him. He stepped away and she frowned. “I liked it. It was—”

“It was a mistake.”

She shook her head, clearly confused. “We’re not so prudish in Nemeth that a little kiss would—”

“No, you don’t understand. I…” He tried to deliver the news in the least hurtful way possible, even if it wasn’t quite the truth. “I was trying to forget someone else. You’re so lovely, I thought I could… But—”

“But you still love her.”

Arthur grated at the use of the wrong pronoun, knew he couldn’t correct her. “Yes.”

“She must be very special.”

“I really am so sorry.”

Mithian looked down to where she was clasping her hands together. “I… I think we should forego our afternoon ride.”

“Of course.” Arthur had been looking forward to getting outside the castle walls, but it would be awkward if they still went together, and it would be rude to go without her.

He had the stable boys return the horses in their stalls and headed back to his chambers where he hoped to avoid seeing both Mithian and Merlin for as long as possible.

-x-x-

“Now the Ploughman’s Rest, Prince Arthur,” Sir Bors slurred, “that’s where a fine young man like yourself should be spendin’ his nights.” He leaned in as if to impart a secret, but did nothing to moderate the volume of his voice. “You jus’ go round to the back for the… the private entrance. That’s where all the nobles go who need to be… What’s the word?” Bors stared off at the wall a moment and Arthur thought he was going to slump over unconscious any second or at least jump topics. Arthur had no such luck. The knight’s face lit up. “Oh, right. _Discreet_.”

“No,” Arthur said, his face blushing red, “I don’t…”

“Come on, Bors, leave the prince be,” Sir Ector said.

“Leave him be? I’m only tryin’ to help ‘im.”

“You’re drunk. What would the king say come summer when one of the girls shows up at court with a baby, claiming it’s Arthur’s?”

Bors scoffed. “You worry too much. There’s plenty those whores can do for our young prince that won’t result in a bastard.”

Arthur extracted himself from the conversation without saying a word, spent the rest of his time at the Rising Sun learning a new game of cards with Leon and Geraint.

A few hours and several tankards of mead later, and Arthur was on his way back to his chambers for the night. He’d slipped out on his own, not in the mood for an escort. He would be fine by himself. He was tipsy, not drunk. Really. He knew the difference. His limbs felt a touch heavy, but no so much as to leave him stumbling. He even managed to spot Gaius rushing down the street in the opposite direction before the boy noticed him.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry at this time of night, Gaius?”

The boy skidded to a stop in front of him. “Ah, Prince Arthur! Elma has taken ill. Merlin instructed me to tend to her tonight.”

“What’s _he_ doing?” As the midwife for the lower town, Elma served a vital role in the community. Merlin would normally see to her personally.

“He’s, ahh, busy.”

Arthur wasn’t sure he believed that. He’d seen Gaius with the midwife’s granddaughter, Alice, and was sure that the boy was sweet on her. If the illness wasn’t too serious, Merlin might have sent his apprentice to help him earn some goodwill from his romantic interest. Arthur wished Merlin would give him the same sort of consideration.

“Better be on your way then,” he said.

Gaius nodded and took off down the street.

Arthur yawned and continued toward the citadel. He turned a corner and that was when he spotted it—Merlin standing outside the Ploughman’s Rest chatting amicably with one of the working girls. Busy indeed! He couldn’t believe it. He should be outraged that Merlin had pawned his duties off on his apprentice so he could have a night at the brothel, but that wasn’t the dominant thought in his mind. He just couldn’t understand why Merlin would ever need to pay for sex. He was handsome and clever, funny and wonderful. Even if he wasn’t interested in Arthur that way, surely he could find someone else who would satisfy him without requiring payment.

The girl nodded her head toward the door, and Merlin followed her quickly inside. Arthur stood there frozen on the street, staring at the entrance to the building even after they were no longer visible. Then he jerked his hood up over his head and marched round to the back of the building like Bors had suggested.

“Got yer coin ready?” the woman just inside the door said.

Arthur didn’t know how much this would cost, but he had enough with him to buy a couple rounds of drinks for the knights and squires at the Rising Sun and surely that would be sufficient. He kept his head down, jingled the coin purse at his belt.

“Excellent. And which of our lovely ladies are you lookin’ to visit?”

Arthur had no idea what to say. He’d rather not visit any of the girls at all if there were a boy he could see instead, but he didn’t even know if they employed men here and was too afraid to ask. All that came out was, “Uhh…”

The woman grinned. He couldn’t see the expression with his hood partially blocking his view, but he could hear it in her voice. “Ah, a first timer. I’d recommend Sefa for you if you don’t have any objections. She’s a sweet girl. Won’t be too intimating for a Ploughman’s virgin. Up the stairs, third door on the right.”

The stairs squeaked with each step, but the higher he climbed the less he noticed. There were other sounds up here; the walls were thin. He heard raucous laughter and unrestrained moans—from both men and women. He heard skin slapping together, furniture scraping against the floor.

He’d heard servants his age talk when they didn’t realize he was close enough to hear. They lived in close quarters with large families, could hear their parents having sex, their older brothers deflowering their brides. It didn’t seem to affect them at all. Arthur had a completely different life and the sounds stirred his blood, set his heart racing.

He wondered if any of the low moans he heard were from Merlin and even though he hated the thought of Merlin with one of the girls here, his cock began to plump.

He counted down to the third door and walked in, hood still drawn up. The girl was moving about the room wearing nothing but a thin shift. Arthur could see her nipples through the fabric, the patch of dark hair between her legs.

She looked up at him and smiled. “You best shut the door, sweetheart. We don’t give free shows here.”

Arthur did as instructed, wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers.

“Are you going to let me see your face?”

Arthur hesitated.

“Afraid I’ll recognize you? You must be someone important. I might think you were the king, but it’s no secret he likes Catrina.”

Arthur nearly choked on his own spit. His father came here! The thought was a little disturbing, but at the same time, it gave him the courage to pull back the hood of his cloak.

Any hope that the girl wouldn’t recognize him was instantly squashed. “Prince Arthur!” She dropped the apple she’d been holding in surprise.  “You really are someone special.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t say a word. In truth, he didn’t know what he was supposed to do.

“Do you know what you want, my lord?”

He felt as if he’d been struck dumb. He didn’t even know what his choices were. Would she just do anything he asked?

“We offer a wide range of services here,” she said as if this were a reputable business establishment. “I’m even skilled in the unnatural acts, so don’t be shy.”

Unnatural… that included a whole host of activities, even buggery, but he didn’t want that with her.

“Could you…” He gathered his courage, his face turning bright red. “I want you to suck my cock.”

She stepped closer, smiling, and told him how much that particular service cost, saying, “Even princes have to pay up front.”

After they exchanged payment, the girl said, “Why don’t you drop your trousers and let me see what I have to work with?”

Arthur fumbled with his belt, his moment of bravado short-lived.

“You don’t have to be nervous.” She put a hand over his. “You’re really going to like this.”

When he finally managed to expose all the necessary pieces, he was still in the early stages. He sat on the edge of the bed and the girl sank to her knees between his legs, leaned in and studied his manhood like it was a piece of art.

“You have a very nice looking prick, my lord.”

She probably said the same thing to all her customers, but Arthur did agree with her. He wasn’t so large as to be disproportionate to his body, but neither was he too small. He was just the right girth for his hand to grip comfortably too, and when he was feeling eager, the head flushed a nice dark pink colour.

She put her hands high on his inner thighs, close to his groin, and spread his legs wider. His cock twitched. He was already on display. It shouldn’t be possible to feel more exposed just by moving his knees a bit further apart, but he did.

She looked up at him, analyzing his mood again. It was painfully obvious that she could tell he was still nervous, but the woman downstairs was right. She was a nice sort of girl.

“Do you have someone you fancy?”

Arthur nodded.

“You can close your eyes if you like and imagine I’m her.”

Without further warning, she lifted his cock in one hand, slipped the tip of her tongue around the edge of his foreskin, circling the head until he was hard enough that the extra skin retracted the rest of the way.  Then she went to work in earnest.

Arthur closed his eyes like she’d suggested, pretended it was Merlin sucking him off. A startled moan escaped his lips. He hadn’t realized what he’d been missing. He could only imagine how much better it would be with Merlin instead of a random woman that he wasn’t even attracted to.   

Sefa didn’t waste any time. Arthur supposed the more men she could service a night, the more money she made.

His mind flittered from one fantasy to another, fed him with the image of Merlin in the next room. Arthur visualized the way his bare hips would look as he moved in and out of a willing body, in and out of Arthur’s willing body. He wanted it so badly his chest physically ached.

It was still hard to believe Merlin was here. He hadn’t even known that Merlin liked women. He’d never married, never had any children. Arthur had assumed that was because he preferred men. And he’d always been so understanding about Arthur’s feelings, even if he didn’t reciprocate them.

Arthur allowed himself to imagine that Merlin was running the same sort of mental exercise that he was—that he was pretending the girl he was with was Arthur. He fantasized about what it would be like if they were together, the expressions that would cross Merlin’s face, the words that would tumble from his lips. In his daydream, Merlin would say things that Arthur knew perfectly well he would never say in real life. ‘I’ve made you wait so long, my love. Let me make it up to you.’

A pained cry from the other side of the wall shattered Arthur’s enjoyment. He jerked in surprise, eyes wide. “What on earth was that?” It sounded like something horrible was happening.

“I’m so sorry,” Sefa said, working a hand over him while she spoke. “It’s nothing to worry about. One of the other girls is having a baby is all.” She went back to sucking his cock.

That didn’t make Arthur feel any better. Not knowing that the baby’s father was likely a customer—like his father or Merlin, like him. And not knowing that the midwife was in bed ill. What if something went wrong? Arthur knew all too well how dangerous childbirth could be.

“But… I, uhh… I heard…” It was hard to form coherent sentences. Was she trying to swallow him whole? “Heard the midwife was, ahh… sick.”

She pulled off again. “Yes, but one of the girls that wasn’t busy rushed up to the castle to request the help of the court physician.”

“Merlin?”

“Yes, I think that’s his name.” She put her mouth on him again.

It shouldn’t be possible, but Arthur felt suddenly sober. Merlin wasn’t here for sex; he was helping a woman through childbirth, and that made Arthur nothing more than a childish prat. It was no wonder Merlin didn’t want him.

“Stop,” he said. “I can’t…”

She did as he asked, but said, “Are you sure? You’re almost there.”

It seemed rather presumptuous of her—to tell Arthur how close he was—but damn if she wasn’t right. His hips jerked involuntarily and his hands crept toward his groin, itching to stroke himself in desperation.

She must have noticed. She said, “Maybe if I just use my hand?”

Arthur debated with himself at lightning speed. He only had moments left now and his own hand just wouldn’t be as satisfying. He jerked his head up and down. She gave him three firm strokes from root to tip with one hand, used the other to catch what she could of his seed as he let out a long groan.

Arthur was quick to tuck himself away and settle his cloak back around his shoulders. He fished around in his coin purse.

“You already paid, my lord.”

“I did, but I thought… Maybe you could buy something… for your friend’s baby.” He didn’t know if they were friendly. Didn’t have any way to be sure Sefa wouldn’t keep the money for herself.

She looked at him with gentle eyes and a soft smile. “That’s very sweet of you, my lord. I wish all the men that came to see me were like you. Come back anytime you like.”

Arthur had no plans to ever step foot in this establishment again.

He set an extra coin on the small table next to the door. “Just… don’t say where it came from.”

“You can rest easy, my lord. I’ll never tell a soul you were here.”

He pulled up his hood, stepped through the doorway and straight into Merlin who was carrying an armful of linens. Arthur should have just kept his fool head down, not said a thing, but he peeked up on reflex, mumbled, “excuse me,” and for a brief moment, their eyes met. There was no doubt that Merlin knew it was him. His eyes went wide, and he opened his mouth as if to say something. Arthur wasn’t sure if Merlin got any words out or not, because he was bolting for the exit. Even when he was back out on the street, in the crisp night air, he didn’t slow down.

He wanted to go back to his chambers, never come out. Wanted this whole night to be nothing more than a bad dream. He was on his way there, when he turned around, headed for Merlin’s chambers instead. He was getting angry now. This was Merlin’s fault! If he would just _say_ something—tell Arthur how he really felt, one way or another—this would never have happened. Or at least, he wouldn’t feel this sick, stomach churning guilt over it.

He let himself into the physician’s quarters, took a seat at the workbench that Merlin alternately used as his dinner table, and resolved to wait as long as he needed to speak with Merlin. Somewhere along the way, he accidentally drifted off to sleep. When he woke, his left arm was asleep and his mouth was dry from the alcohol. Once he’d worked the feeling back into his arm, he helped himself to the skin of water Merlin had sitting out on the table.

It was just before daybreak when Merlin returned. His eyelids looked heavy enough to slide shut the moment he was no longer vertical, but then he saw Arthur, and that was enough to shock him into full wakefulness.

“Arthur…” he said carefully. “I trust you had a good night.” And there was a tone there. Like maybe Merlin was unhappy with him. And that was a good sign, but the disapproval could be because he thought the Ploughman’s Rest was dishonourable, or inappropriate for his station or age, or… ~~~~

“That’s all you have to say?”

“What do you want me to say, Arthur? I’m not your father. I can’t tell you where you can and cannot go, what you are allowed or not allowed to do. And you don’t owe me anything. I’m not your…”

He could hear what Merlin wasn’t saying: _I’m not your sweetheart._ The muscles in Arthur’s arms trembled as he resisted the urge to throw something. He stood up.

“No, that’s not right. You’re the one I want to be with. I betrayed you. You should be angry.”

“You’re young. You’re trying new things. You’re… I’m not angry with you.”

“ _I WANT_ _you to be angry with me!_ ” Arthur exploded, gesturing wildly with his arms. “I’m upset with myself! Sir Bors had been talking about the place all night and I thought nothing of it, but then I saw you there and I just… I thought, if you could do it, so could I.”

“Oh, Arthur... ” And Merlin was giving him that same pained look that he always did when this topic came up.

“But you have to know, I didn’t… I mean… I’m still…” He had to get this out. Had to make sure Merlin knew. He took a deep, calming breath. “The girl, she only used her mouth.” Merlin’s expression was unreadable. “And when I realized you weren’t there to… Well, just her hand after that.”

“Arthur, you don’t have to tell me any of this. You don’t owe me an explanation.”

“Of course I do. Don’t pretend you don’t know why.” When Merlin didn’t say anything, Arthur continued. “All the time, Merlin. I think about it all the time. That future you promised me. The two of us, standing side by side, building a better future for the kingdom together. Don’t you think about it, too?”

He stepped forward, moved to place himself directly in front of Merlin.

“Arthur, I—” Merlin took a step back, but didn’t have far to go and bumped into the wall. Arthur followed along. He wasn’t going to let Merlin avoid this conversation.

“I know you never promised any more than that, but I can’t help but feel that we’re supposed to be… partners in everything. I can’t get it out of my mind.” He took another deep breath to steady his conviction. “If it’s never going to happen, why don’t you spare me the pain and tell me now?”

Merlin looked to the side, didn’t say a word.

“How long do I have to wait? Until every last grey hair is gone? You’ll be even older then.”

“It’s not _my_ age that troubles me.”

“I’m a man now; I’m seventeen!”

“I know you can’t see it, but you’re still growing. One day, you’ll look back on this and see that I was right.” Merlin reached out then as if to touch him, but hesitated, left his hand wavering midair.

Before Merlin could change his mind and put his arm back at his side, Arthur took his hand, placed it on his cheek, and held it there. He lightened his tone. “Were you afraid to touch me?”

He’d meant it as a tease, but Merlin didn’t reply and what had faded over time to nothing more than fine lines under ordinary conditions were now full wrinkles as Merlin furrowed his brow.

“You don’t have to be. I want your touch. More than anything.” That only seemed to make Merlin even more miserable. He looked absolutely gutted, and Arthur realized he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Merlin’s smile.

He sighed, finally understanding what he needed to do to prove himself. It wasn’t bigger muscles or tournament titles.

“Don’t worry.” If he was to have his chance, he needed to show some maturity, needed to be patient. “You win. We’ll do it your way.”

Merlin’s expression lightened and Arthur let his hand drop. He expected Merlin to follow suit, but he didn’t. He moved his hand up and ran his thumb along Arthur’s brow, trailed his fingertips down along his jaw. Arthur sucked in a sudden breath. What was this? He searched Merlin’s eyes, trying to discern how to interpret the touch.

“I’m sorry this has been so painful for you. That was never what I wanted.” Merlin stroked Arthur’s cheek with his thumb, just once, then he broke contact and looked away again.

Arthur nodded and returned to his chambers, wondering if it was possible that Merlin has been waiting for him this whole time.


	9. A Series of Betrayals

A few weeks before Arthur’s 18th birthday, his father invited Merlin to join them at dinner to discuss the overall wellness of the court. Morgana spent half the meal yawning, but Arthur listened as Merlin went on about the number of births and deaths, the rates of illnesses. When the official business was out of the way, Uther moved on to other topics.

“Arthur, your birthday is coming up. I thought to hold a special tournament to celebrate. Single combat perhaps.”

“Blood and bruises,” Merlin muttered. “Happy birthday, indeed.”

Uther made a strangled sound, turned all his attention to Merlin. _"What_ _was that?"_

“Ah,” Merlin fumbled for his words, “forgive me, my lord. You must understand that as a physician, I don’t like to see any of Camelot’s knights hurt, as invariably happens in these contests.”

Arthur never wanted Merlin to speak to him that way—so formal, holding back his quick wit and his true opinion.

Uther relaxed back into his chair. “Yes, well, I suppose I can’t expect a physician to understand the honours of knighthood.”

While Uther looked away to gesture to a servant for more wine and Morgana had her eyes squeezed shut to suppress a yawn, Arthur gave Merlin a quirk of his eyebrows and a wry smile. Merlin grinned back and Arthur allowed himself a moment to savour it—he really had missed seeing that smile—before returning his attention to his plate for another bite of pork. He didn’t want to risk drawing the moment out, not only due to the risk of being noticed by their dinner companions, but because he didn’t want Merlin thinking he was trying to flirt.

“The tournament is an excellent idea, Father. I’ll be allowed to compete, won’t I?”

“Yes, of course. And if you do well enough—”

Arthur took this to mean, ‘if you win.’

“—I’ll consider transferring leadership of the army to you.”

Arthur sat up straighter. “Thank you, Father. I won’t let you down.”

“Will we see you competing with a favour around your arm, Arthur?” Morgana said.

Arthur nearly choked on his dinner. He looked across the table at Merlin, eyes bulging, then schooled himself and turned to face Morgana. “ _What?"_

“Oh?” Uther chuckled. “What’s this?”

Morgana smirked and said, “It’s nothing, really,” using the obnoxiously sweet and innocent tone that always got Arthur into trouble. “I simply heard a rumour that there’s someone Arthur holds in particularly high regard.”

He didn’t want to lie and say there was no one. Especially considering Merlin was seated right across from him, taking a suspiciously long drink of his wine.

“Where did you hear that?” Arthur said. No one knew how he felt but Merlin, and _he_ would never tell.

“If she has the right breeding, Arthur, then there’s no need to hide. I could speak to her father, come to an arrangement. You could be married within a month.”

Merlin stifled a cough. “Surely the prince is a little young for marriage. If I remember correctly, you didn’t marry until you were 26.”

 _Twenty-six!_ Arthur sincerely hoped Merlin didn’t mean to make him wait that long.

“He hasn’t even competed in a tournament yet. How do you expect him to compete for a lady’s heart?”

Arthur wanted to kiss him and kick him at the same time. He couldn’t be too upset considering Merlin was defending him against an unwanted marriage, but couldn’t he have come up with a better excuse than to say that Arthur was too immature?

“Perhaps you’re right. With that horrible curse placed on you, I sometimes forget that you’re wiser than you look.”

Arthur decided to put an end to the discussion. “I definitely won’t be wearing anyone’s favour, Father. And Morgana, you should know better than to believe idle rumours.”

“I guess Princess Mithian was wrong, after all,” Morgana mumbled. Arthur didn’t think he was meant to hear.

“What was that, Morgana?” Uther said.

“Nothing, my lord.” She smiled brightly at him and Uther was appeased.

The morning of Arthur’s birthday, he woke early and had himself dressed and ready for the day before George arrived with his breakfast. He had several things he needed to do before the tournament started.

First was his annual physical, which served as a true test of his recent resolve for patience. Merlin did his usual poking and prodding and all the while, Arthur was waiting for some small slip in his behaviour like he’d done the night of the brothel debacle. The way Merlin had touched his face… He thought about it every day.

Arthur didn’t get his wish. Every touch was strictly professional, but he didn’t allow himself to feel down or bitter about Merlin’s continued distance. Instead, he took every opportunity he could to make Merlin smile or laugh, like he had at dinner those few weeks ago. It was a little strained, trying to suddenly shift their relationship back to the easy interactions they had when he was a child, but he could tell Merlin appreciated the effort.

After his physical, he went down to the crypt to visit his mother’s resting place only to find an unfamiliar man with dark hair standing before her tomb, head bowed.

Arthur said, “Excuse me,” his tone sharp.

“Arthur!” The stranger reached forward as if to touch him.

He took a cautious step back, put his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Ah, forgive me. I forget that we have never officially met. Perhaps your father has never even told you about me. I am your mother’s only surviving brother.”

Uther never talked about Arthur’s mother or her family, but Merlin had told him a little here and there over the years. He knew his mother’s oldest brother had challenged his father to a fight shortly after he was born and that Uther had been forced to kill him. That meant the man before him could only be…

“Uncle Agravaine?”

The man smiled, seemed genuinely pleased to see him. He didn’t appear to hold a grudge against Arthur for causing the death of his beloved sister.

“I was hoping to see you today, dear nephew. I have a present for your birthday.” He produced a small cloth wrapped bundle and offered it to Arthur.

Beneath the silk fabric, Arthur found a wide bracelet with a large, unusual gem centered between a pair of silver wings.

“It’s beautiful.”

“I hope it will bring you good fortune. It’s been in the family for generations.”

“Thank you! I don’t have much of anything from mother. I often wonder about her, what she was like, what she would think of me… Father won’t discuss her at all.” He put the bracelet on his right wrist. “I’ll wear it to the tournament this afternoon.”

Agravaine’s smile broadened.

“You will stay and watch, won’t you?”

“I dearly wish that I could, but I don’t think it would go well for me if your father were to learn I was here.”

“I understand. I won’t tell him I saw you.”

Agravaine bid him goodbye and left Arthur to have a quiet moment alone. He put a hand on his mother’s tomb, talked like she was really there, told her about the tournament, Uncle Agravaine’s gift, about how he’d had some rough times recently with his best friend, but was trying to make things better. He told her how he wanted to lead the army, how he thought he was ready, asked if she was proud of him.

Arthur had convinced his father to hold a wrestling competition before the single combat so that the common people could participate, and he went straight from the crypt to the tournament field to stand with his father for his opening speech. Normally, Arthur would have liked to watch the whole of the competition, but he needed to focus on his upcoming fights. After the first round, where the baker’s son won out over a farmer from one of the nearby villages, he retreated to his tent to complete his mental preparations.

What felt like a short time later, cheers from the stands carried across the staging grounds. Muffled though they were, it was clear that the wrestling was coming to a close. Arthur stood up and began stretching his muscles. ~~~~

George entered the tent. “Are you ready for your armour, my lord?”

Arthur gave a curt nod and his manservant began the familiar process of strapping him into his plate. The boy didn’t speak while going about his work. He rarely did unless it was absolutely necessary. He’d learned a long time ago that Arthur never laughed at his jokes. ~~~~

He left his tent, sword on his belt, shield in one hand, helmet in the other. He passed Merlin on the way onto the field, stationed in his usual spot, standing in the aisle where he could quickly attend to injured men if needed. His medical bag rested at his feet. He gave Arthur a single nod in acknowledgement, no smile. Arthur would have usually at least acknowledged his presence, but the most he could manage was a lingering glance. He had to focus on his upcoming match, couldn’t afford to let himself be distracted.

Once on the field, a squire undid the clasp at his throat and removed his cloak. Arthur donned his helmet and his world narrowed to slits. It consisted of his opponent and his immediate surroundings. The cheering crowd, the pressures of his father’s expectations, these were nothing. He drew his sword and fell into his standard defensive stance. His opponent, a young knight from Nemeth, did the same. Arthur took a few steps to the right, then surged forward to launch the first offense. The knight blocked, but Arthur could already see weaknesses in the man’s footing. When he tried to take advantage, he found he was a fraction too slow and had missed his opportunity. The knight didn’t learn from his near miss, made the same mistake not thirty seconds later. Again, Arthur’s sword sliced through thin air. It wasn’t until the man repeated the mistake a third time that Arthur was finally able to get the upper hand and finish the match with the knight unarmed and on the ground, the tip of Arthur’s sword at his heart.

Arthur spun to face the royal box. His father was applauding, but not impressed. He knew Arthur’s victory should have been much quicker.

Even Merlin noticed something was off. He asked Arthur about it as he made his way from the field. He told Merlin that he’d just needed a little time to warm up, that he was fine now. Merlin didn’t accept the excuse; he eyed Arthur with even more scrutiny than he had during his physical and nothing Arthur said put him at ease.

The crowd let out a collective gasp. In the short time Arthur had been standing here, the next match had already begun and Arthur turned back toward the field just in time to see Sir Ewan crumple to the ground. Merlin picked up his medical bag and took a step toward the fallen knight, then paused, looked back toward Arthur.

”You just examined me a few hours ago. Nothing has changed since then. I promise I’m fine.”

Merlin reluctantly turned away, for the moment, returning to his role as court physician instead of Arthur’s man.

With at least an hour before his next round, Arthur returned to his tent and closed his eyes, meaning only to visualize his upcoming match. The next thing he knew, George was shaking him awake. He told himself that his unexpected nap wasn’t a problem, that the short rest would ensure he was refreshed for his next fight, but his second round went even more poorly than the first.

Less than a minute into the fight, he fell on his arse, not because his opponent tripped him up, but purely because he stumbled over his own feet. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. His legs felt like they were made of lead. The jolt of hitting the ground sent one of those old shadow pains shooting through the leg he’d broken as a child. He barely rolled away in time to avoid a solid blow to his chest. He powered through the fatigue and managed to land a single well aimed blow. It was enough to win a narrow victory, but this was a fight against Owain, who he’d routinely bested in practice since he was sixteen.

Arthur checked the tournament board as a young squire dropped the miniature wooden shield representing Owain to the ground and advanced Arthur’s to the semi-final round where he would be fighting the winner of the pervious match, a man named Valiant.

To avoid the problem he had during his first break, Arthur stayed on his feet the entire time, and when he was called back to the tournament field for his fight with Valiant, he ran across Merlin who was returning from seeing to Sir Ewan.

“What’s that?” Merlin’s gaze zeroed in on Arthur’s wrist.

He lifted his arm so the man could have a better look. “Have you ever seen anything like it? It was a gift.”

“From who?” He sounded skeptical. He was supposed to be impressed. “You need to take it off.”

“What? No. This was a family heirloom. Uncle Agravaine gave it to me.”

“Agravaine?”

“You can’t tell my father I saw him. I promised.”

Merlin’s expression darkened. “He’s trying to get you killed.”

Arthur scowled at the sudden accusation. “Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin. He wouldn’t do that. You’re not the only one that cares about me, you know?”

“Of course not.” _Now_ he sounded contrite. “I would never… So many people love you, not just me—your father and Morgana, Sir Kay and the other knights, your friends…  And the people of Camelot, they’re proud to have you as their prince. But Agravaine… I’m sorry, Arthur. I know you want to think well of him because he’s family, but he can’t be trusted. He never approved of Ygraine marrying Uther and when Tristan died, he swore revenge.”

Arthur shook his head. He did feel a bit off today, but it couldn’t be his uncle’s doing. “I know you’re only trying to help, but you’re wrong about this.” He patted Merlin’s shoulder just once to reassure him, then continued back to the tournament field.

His match with Valiant got underway and Arthur immediately knew that this wasn’t anything like his other fights. Valiant was highly skilled and even if Arthur weren’t feeling oddly tired, he would still have a hard time taking advantage of any of the man’s mistakes owing to his quick speed and superior strength. If Arthur were a few years older, he might be just as strong, but there was no use dwelling on that.

Arthur raised his sword to counter and instantly regretted it. He’d have been better off blocking with his shield. The force of the strike tested the strength of Arthur wrist and arm, and he was already past his limits. His muscles quivered. In a matter of seconds, his strength would give out completely. That was when Valiant’s eyes flickered up toward the pommel of Arthur’s sword. Arthur followed his gaze. The gem at the center of his bracelet seemed to be glowing.  He might have thought it was a glint of sunlight, except a triumphant little smirk tugged at Valiant’s lips, and Merlin’s warnings came back to him. He needed to get this gem off his wrist.

He gave Valiant’s sword a weak push—the best he could do. Before he could withdraw his sword arm out of reach, Valiant managed to get a swing in. The blade didn’t land a full blow, but the tip cut across the back of Arthur’s hand. Blood trickled over his skin and caught under his glove. A second blow knocked the sword from Arthur’s grip. 

Valiant stood there a moment, leering at him, savouring his impending victory. He would have had it too, but Arthur ripped the bracelet off. The effect was nearly instantaneous. His strength and energy surged back and he charged forward using his shield as a weapon. He rammed Valiant hard enough to make him stumble backward, giving Arthur enough time to retrieve his sword.

He wished he could believe that his uncle hadn’t known about the effects of the bracelet, wished he could stop the growing certainty that Agravaine and Valiant were working together to bring him down. It could be that Agravaine really was trying to get him killed, like Merlin had suggested, or maybe this was merely a plot to ensure they won the prize money. Either way, his uncle had betrayed him. It shouldn’t hurt like it did. What did he even know of Agravaine? He’d never met the man before today but he’d been so eager for his acceptance that he’d ignored the advice of a man who has stood by him his entire life, as though his uncle’s good opinion could somehow make up for never knowing his mother.

He poured out his aggression and hurt on Valiant until the knight was bleeding and unconscious on the ground.

Merlin rushed onto the field to see to Valiant, but the man quickly regained consciousness and waved him away. Merlin didn’t argue and without evidence tying Valiant to Agravaine, Arthur was forced to let the man stumble away without repercussions.

Arthur turned to give a shallow bow to his father, checked the board—the final round would pair him against Sir Leon—and left for his tent. George trailed along after him, wordlessly handed him a skin of water. Arthur took a small drink and let the rest pour across his face to help cool him. He had to be back on the field in ten minutes for the final, but he was still breathing heavily and needed to sit down.

He pulled the tent flap to the side, not worrying about how it fell back after he was through. George could take care of himself. He threw down his shield and ripped the glove off his right hand. It was still bleeding and the wound gapped wide. He hadn’t realized it was this deep of a cut, not that there was much flesh on the back of his hand to cushion the blow. He prodded at the skin around the wound and caught a glimpse of white peeking through—bone.

Merlin let himself into his tent without announcement and told George, “You may go.”

George waited for confirmation from Arthur before leaving. As soon as he was gone, Merlin was dropping to his knees and grabbing Arthur’s hand to inspect the wound. He didn’t say anything about the bracelet, didn’t gloat about how he was right and Arthur was wrong. He said, “I can—”

“No.” Arthur pulled his hand away, knew Merlin wanted to use magic to heal the wound.

“But—”

“I said no, Merlin. I’m not going to change my mind.”

“If this is some fool stunt to prove how tough you are—”

“It’s not. It’s about proving my skill in a fair fight.”

“How is it fair for you to begin a match already injured?”

“If I were anyone else, would you be offering to heal them in this way?”

Merlin kept his mouth shut.

“No, of course not. You can’t give me special treatment. Not today.”

“You don’t have to do anything to prove yourself, Arthur.”

“Maybe not to you. But to my father? To the men I will one day lead into battle? I know you understand. You’re just being stubborn. Now come on. Let’s not waste time arguing. Treat the wound as you would if I were Sir Leon so I can get back out on the field for the final round.”

Merlin gave him a look that Arthur wasn’t quite sure he understood. It was almost as if he were… pleased in a way? Proud maybe? It only lasted a moment, then he was rifling through his medical bag for needle and thread.

“I don’t have enough time to do this right.”

“Just do what you can.”

Merlin rinsed the wound quickly and slathered on a thick salve that Arthur knew was meant to desensitize the wound. It didn’t work very well. The needle pierced his skin and he involuntarily flinched.

“You have to hold still.”

“I know that. You try not moving while a man jabs you with a piece of metal.”

“This is going to scar.”

“I don’t care.”

Merlin made a noise of displeasure, but didn’t say a word.

A rustling of the tent canvas probably meant to be a knock was followed by George saying, “It’s time, my lord.”

Merlin finished tying off a stich and Arthur stood.

“I wasn’t done yet. You need twice as many stitches.”

“You can finish after.”

Arthur picked up his bloodied glove and slid it back on his hand, trying to ignore the cool sticky fluid inside.

“You should have bandaging too.”

“Won’t fit under the glove.”

“ _Arthur_ …” Arthur turned and Merlin took a deep breath, nodded. “Good luck.”

Outside, George cast Merlin a particularly blank stare, as if he disapproved of the physician but knew better than to say anything. Both of them followed Arthur back to the tournament field and before he knew it, the final round had begun. Arthur had been training for this moment for so long, it felt a little strange now that it was finally here. He performed well though, was finally able to focus the way he knew he could. He saw each of Leon’s tells. Leon feigned left and Arthur moved in the opposite direction to intercept him. They traded a few even blows, then Arthur knocked Leon to the side, got him off balance. He pressed forward with his shield to push the man into the wall that separated the stands from the field and moved his sword to the man’s throat before he could sidestep away.

The crowd erupted into thunderous cheers. His father stood and gave him a nod. As the rush of battle began to subside, he felt a trickle of blood pooling in the fingers of his glove. He bowed to the king, offered Leon a word of acknowledgement for being an accomplished fighter, and returned to his tent, sending George ahead to his chambers to prepare a bath.

Arthur was too tired to bother with undressing and fell onto his cot, armour clanking together. Merlin arrived moments later and carefully pulled off Arthur’s glove, groaned at what he saw.

“You made a mess of this. Don’t know why I even bothered.”

Arthur spared it a moment’s glance. He’d pulled all but two of the stitches.

Merlin washed the wound again and let the numbing salve sit a minute before he began re-stitching, this time with much neater, tighter stitches. He was nearly done with his work when he said quietly, “Congratulations on your victory, Arthur. I hope your father rewards you with the responsibility you’ve been longing for.”

“Thank you, Merlin.”

He finished stitching and started unfastening the buckles on Arthur’s right vambrace without asking.

“What are you doing?”

“You sent George away, and you’re tired. I thought you’d rather not haul the extra weight of your armour up to your chambers if you didn’t have to. Unless you were planning on doing this yourself? Or I could find another servant if you prefer.” Merlin stood and took a step toward the tent entrance.

“No. Sorry. This is... Thank you.”

After both vambraces came off, Arthur shifted to allow Merlin easier access to the rest of his straps and buckles.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“No. I’ll probably be sore tomorrow, but that’s from hard work, not injury.”

“I’ll have Gaius run something up for your bathwater to help with the aches.”

Sending his errand boy instead of coming himself when Arthur would be undressed. Of course. He was too tired to object.

Merlin worked in silence as he stripped off the remainder of Arthur’s plate. When he moved on to help remove Arthur’s hauberk, Arthur closed his eyes, imagined Merlin was lifting off his shirt instead, imagined that when he was done, they could lie down on the cot together and just be.

When Merlin finished, he pulled that cursed bracelet from his pocket. “I found this on the ground when I checked on Valiant. It won’t harm you as long as you don’t wear it.”

“I don’t ever want to see it again.”

Merlin didn’t look surprised and quickly tucked it back into his pocket.

“I’m sorry it’s not what you thought it was.”

Merlin looked about as miserable as Arthur felt.

“I’m sorry I doubted you. It’s just… Today of all days, I wanted...”

“I know. It’s all right.”

“Tell me a little more about my mother?” From his previous descriptions, Arthur knew that she’d been petite and beautiful with hair even paler than Arthur’s, that she’d been compassionate and loving, and that she often worried—that she wasn’t doing enough for the people of Camelot, about whether or not she would be a good mother.

Merlin considered for a moment, likely trying to recall something he’d never shared with Arthur before. “She once told me about Tintagel, where she grew up. She said the castle was surrounded by fields of beautiful flowers that bloomed all summer long.”

Arthur tried to picture the scene in his head. “What sort of flower were they?”

Merlin started to describe them but cut off suddenly. “Actually…” He knelt in front of Arthur again, cupped his hands together, brought them up to his mouth, and whispered a few words. When he opened his hands, a delicate sprig of green topped with several clusters of tiny white flowers rested in his palms.

“That’s incredible, Merlin,” he said, his voice sounding a little breathless. He’d known Merlin could use his magic for healing and fighting, but he’d never seen him do anything like this.

Arthur picked it up. It felt no different from a flower grown in the soil, and it had a light, pleasant scent.

Merlin said, “You can keep it, if you like. Those were your mother’s favourite.”

Arthur nodded, still in awe, but didn’t attribute any additional significance to the gift until he passed Morgana on his way back to his chambers.

She eyed the flower, said, “I thought you didn’t have an admirer.”

“No, this isn’t—” He looked back toward the field, as if Merlin might show up to explain that he hadn’t meant the gift in that way. But what was there to explain? Merlin had given him a flower because he couldn’t stand seeing Arthur feel so down. Didn’t that make the gift even more special than the sort of generic token Morgana was thinking of?

“No?” she said. “Then why are your cheeks turning pink?” The corner of her lip twitched up in triumph, and she walked away before Arthur could formulate a proper response.

Arthur spun the little plant in his fingers and smiled. He would press it in one of his books before it had a chance to wilt.

The concoction Merlin sent up for his bath smelled of lavender and mint and contained the relaxing salts brought to Camelot by traders from a small village beyond Escetir. He soaked until the water went cold, then forced himself out of the bath and down to the great hall where a feast in his honour was already underway.

Uther raised a glass to lead a toast for Arthur’s 18th birthday, but when it came to the topic of the tournament, he gave only his usual congratulations with no extra praise for his son. If anything, he was somewhat less inclined in his accolades. As if this was merely the natural outcome, nothing special worthy of distinction. It would only have been if he’d lost that he would have had much to say. Arthur wasn’t sure what to make of that. He longed for his father’s acceptance, to make him proud, and yet, wasn’t there a certain level of faith in thinking that Arthur would win from the beginning? Arthur could only hope that this faith was the result of his hard work and dedication, not the sole product of being Uther’s offspring.

Uther didn’t notice the sutures on his hand until well into the meal. Arthur always sat to his father’s right, so the hand wasn’t on prominent display. When Arthur explained how he’d won his final round despite the injury, Uther’s only reply was to say that he should never have allowed himself to be wounded in the first place. While Arthur agreed on some level, it sucked any joy he’d felt out of the evening.

As tournament champion and birthday boy, it would be in poor form to leave early, so Arthur forced himself to sit through the carousing and merrymaking when all he wanted to do was climb into bed and sleep. When he was finally able to retire, he laid awake worrying that his injury somehow disqualified him from leading the army in his father’s eyes.

It didn’t as it turned out, and Uther signed the papers to transfer responsibility the very next day. Arthur’s pleasure at the accomplishment was short lived. After breakfast at the end of the first week, Uther called him into a private meeting.

“I’ve received reports of a druid camp in the Darkling Woods. They’re not two hours march from our gates. They’re flaunting themselves there on purpose. They know magic is outlawed within Camelot’s borders. They must be taught a lesson. Make an example of them.”

Arthur wasn’t sure he was hearing this right. His father was speaking of a settlement, however temporary. That would mean women and children. And nothing he said indicated that they’d made any attempt to use magic against the crown or its people. Uther was simply offended by their presence. He gave a few more commands, but left the tactics up to Arthur in keeping with his new role as head of Camelot’s army.

“I want this matter settled immediately, Arthur,” his father said as Arthur turned to leave.

He had no idea what to do. He couldn’t refuse the orders of the king; that would be treason. And yet, what his father was asking of him, he wasn’t sure he could do it.

He ordered George to ready him a bag and prepare his horse, sent messengers off to call up the dozen knights he’d need to take with him. He unconsciously detoured on his way to the courtyard and ended up in Merlin’s chambers.

“These are innocent people, Merlin. People like you. They’ve never raised a hand against me or Camelot. My father wants them all dead. If they have magic, he wants them executed if they survive the initial confrontation. I can’t…”

“It’s all right, Arthur.”

“How can it be all right?”

“Go to this encampment and follow orders. You don’t have to worry. I’ll be with you.”

Arthur wasn’t sure how that could possibly help the situation.

“Gaius!” Merlin called.

The boy came over from the window where he’d been leafing through a book. “Yes, Merlin?”

“You’re in charge here until I get back.”

“You really think I can handle it?”

“I know you can. I won’t be gone long.” To Arthur he said, “When do you leave?”

“As soon as I can round everyone up. No later than noon.”

“Then I’ll leave now.”

“I thought you were coming with me.”

“I’ll be there, but we can’t go together.”

“You’re going to warn them we’re coming. Father will want us to track them down.”

“That’s why I’ll be there.”

“No!” Arthur could see where he was going with this. “You’re going to fight us?”

“No one will be in any real danger.”

“Even you?” If Merlin planned to engage them, he would have to hold back to prevent injuring the knights. His men wouldn’t be so inclined. And no matter how much magic he had, he was still only one man.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Merlin, I don’t like this plan.”

Merlin was already heading toward the door. He paused, turned back. “What other choice do we have?”

Then he was gone and Arthur was left alone to head to a conflict with the one person in the world he wanted to keep safe more than any other.

Arthur wanted to give Merlin as much time as possible to implement his plan, so he set the easiest pace he could without it looking like he was purposely slowing them down. Nothing about this situation was good. The plan, even though he didn’t know what all was involved in it, was clearly horrible. The fact that they needed a plan was awful. Here Arthur was, his first excursion as leader of Camelot’s army, and he was already betraying his father’s trust.

After crossing a narrow stream, Leon said, “We’re close, my lord.”

Arthur’s stomach churned and perspiration beaded on his forehead. The rushing of blood in his ears was loud enough to drown out the pounding of horse hooves on hard packed soil.

Arthur drew the men to a halt and reminded them of his instructions. Spare the women, children, and elderly. Accept declarations of surrender. Proper trials would be held for those guilty of crimes against Camelot. He knew his instructions would get back to his father, but there was no world in which he would sanction the killing of children, no matter what his father said.

They crested a hill and in the distance, Arthur spotted a dozen or so crude dwellings. They were little more than tents. Once colourful bits of fabric, now faded from sun and rain, were tied to low hanging tree branches.

“What is all this, my lord?” Leon said.

“This place must be sacred to the druids. The ribbons are marking the path to something in particular. Maybe a spring, or an ancient tree.” He hoped no one wondered how he knew such things, hoped they’d assume it was part of the standard education for a prince. It was not. This was the sort of thing he learned by being around Merlin. Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut.

A thick fog came out of nowhere and grew up around them. The horses shied and nickered. Arthur’s dun gelding danced a few steps to the side, and Arthur leaned forward to stoke his neck and whisper soothing words. Behind him, the sounds of the knights drawing their swords proved it wasn’t just the horses that were uneasy.

Arthur continued forward at a walk but within moments he could barely see Sir Geraint, who’d drawn up beside him. Then even he faded into the mist, his form reduced to nothing but an indistinct shadow. A streak of lightning flashed across the sky. The accompanying thunder left Arthur’s ears ringing well after the sound had stopped. He blinked several times to clear his vision after the excessive brightness of the lightning, but there was still only white mist to see. He had to spin his horse in a circle to keep the animal from bolting. His men muttered nervously.

Arthur began shouting orders—“Stay together!” and, “Hold fast!”

What the hell was Merlin doing? The men were on edge to begin with, knowing they were going to a druid camp, knowing there would be those with magic. Arthur couldn’t blame them. The thought of magic being used against him instead of for him made Arthur a bit nervous as well.

The cries of what sounded like a dozen men erupted from a short distance away. Arthur froze. This couldn’t be Merlin’s magic, could it? It sounded real. If this were anyone else, Arthur might have considered the possibility that he’d been betrayed, but since this was Merlin, his mind jumped to a whole different set of worries. Had Merlin even made it here safely? Had the druids known he was from Camelot? Did they know he was loyal to the king’s son? They could have hurt him, killed him even, and set a trap for Arthur and his men to walk into.

With the fog, Arthur couldn’t see where the druids were coming from, but it sounded like they were closing in on all sides. Arthur wasn’t the only one to have the thought.

Sir Bedivere shouted, “We’re surrounded!”

The sound of a bow string snapped somewhere to Arthur’s left. That was followed by a solid _thunk,_ and a horse bolted away from Arthur’s team.

“Stay together!” he said, but it was useless. Half a dozen knights were charging away shouting defiance.

“For Camelot!” Sir Bors said.

“For the king!” That was Sir Pellinore.

Arthur tried his best to keep the rest of his men in a cohesive group, with a purposeful strategy, but there was nothing he could do at this point. The clanging of swords rang out, though it didn’t sound much like metal on metal. Maybe more like metal on wood. Perhaps the druids fought with staves as well as magic.

Everything about this was a disaster. He looked to his side. Merlin had promised to be here. That no one would be in danger. It seemed he had failed on both counts.

Every now and then, Arthur thought he saw a shadow or two moving about. He could tell by the way they slid through the mist that they weren’t his men. They weren’t Merlin either, but any time he moved closer, the shadows faded away.

Eventually the fog began to lift and Arthur was able to round up his men. A few had been unhorsed, and most were wild eyed and reluctant to sheath their weapons, but no one seemed to be injured in any significant physical way.

“No matter how many times I struck the sorcerer,” Pellinore said, “he would not fall. It is dark magic at work here.”

“I saw a hooded figure slinking about,” Bors said. “I fired my crossbow and nicked him in the arm. I swear I struck him. I heard him yelp through the fighting. But that was the cleanest hit I had the whole battle. I felt like I was swinging my sword at shadows! I couldn’t see a damn thing. I might have been fighting one of you lot for all I know.”

“Well, I killed one. He crumpled to the ground when I ran my sword through his chest. These druids didn’t have a bit of armour on. Foolishly arrogant in their magic if you ask me.”

“Oh, you killed one of them did you? Then where’s the damn body?”

The mist had lifted well enough to see a dozen paces in each direction. There wasn’t a single body to be seen. Arthur dismounted and crouched to the ground to pick up a length of dark green fabric that had been left on the battlefield. He held it up to reveal a cloak with a conspicuous hole in the middle, but no blood. Arthur turned in a circle, noted other bits of clothing scattered across the area, and a tree that had numerous gouge marks along the trunk.

“Well,” Owain said, “they are sorcerers. Probably used magic to whisk the bodies of the fallen away. They wouldn’t want to leave proof of how soundly we defeated them—and without resorting to the evils of magic!”

“Yeah, that makes sense.”

It _didn’t_ make sense.  Arthur kept out of it. There was something deeply unsettling about this whole thing. They treated the scrapes and bruises that had been sustained in the fight, then continued down the path to inspect the remains of the encampment.

The place was bare. There was no livestock, no blankets, or foodstuffs. And yet, hot coals still smoldered in the fire pits. The druids were gone, but not for long, an hour at most. Merlin had definitely been here.

Arthur lead his men back home and the further from the camp they got, the more they seemed to convince themselves that they’d just achieved a great victory.

When he presented himself to his father upon his arrival back in Camelot, he worded his report very carefully.

“I believe magic was used to confuse us. No casualties on our part.”

“And how many of them did you kill?”

“I’m not sure. With the fog, it was impossible to tell. There’s been speculation that the druids used the fog to hide their true losses from us. When it was over, we searched the encampment, but it was abandoned. I don’t believe they will return.”

“Good. Not quite as harsh an example as I was hoping for, but they’re scattered now and afraid. You’ve shown them that their magic cannot deter us.”

Arthur bowed and excused himself from the hall, headed straight to Merlin’s chambers to see if the man had returned ahead of them. If he wasn’t there, Arthur would head back out immediately, wouldn’t stop looking until he found him.

He walked through the door without knocking. Merlin sat at his bench partially blocked from view by Gaius who had his back to Arthur. Merlin instantly stood, pulling the sleeve of his jacket up as he did.

“Arthur, I hope everything went well for you today. Gaius, thank you for taking care of things here while I was gone. You can take the rest of the evening off.”

“Really?”

“Yes, go have some fun.”

“Thanks, Merlin!” And the boy darted through the door before Merlin could change his mind.

“What was Gaius doing just now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Something with your arm.”

Merlin shook his head. “It’s nothing. Just scratched it on a branch rushing through the woods. Maybe you don’t realize this about me yet, but I can actually be a bit clumsy at times.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. Merlin wasn’t clumsy. If he fell or did something awkward, it was because he was exhausted and over-worked. And maybe he would have believed him about the branch with the way he’d rushed ahead to warn the druids, but he was acting strangely.

“Your men are all right, I assume? I was very careful. I tried to scare them more than anything else. Worked pretty well, I thought. Take away a man’s ability to see all of a sudden and he starts to see things that aren’t there. Toss in a few bits of animated clothing to stand in as enemies and you have yourself as safe a battle as you can get.”

Merlin looked a little too smug for Arthur’s liking.

“So that was _all_ you?”

“I told you I’d be there with you. Told you there was nothing to worry about.”

Arthur shook his head. “I thought you’d—”

“I’d what?” Merlin looked honestly confused. As if it hadn’t occurred to him that Arthur would worry over him, but Arthur pushed that aside for now, because Merlin was doing a very good job of distracting him from something.

“Show me your arm.”

“What?” Merlin laughed. “Why?”

“Merlin, I’m not in the mood for your games.”

Merlin studied him a minute, then slowly shrugged out of his jacket. He wore a thick bandage high on his left arm. Arthur stared at him until he sighed and began unwinding the bandage. Arthur knew it was bad because he was already trying to explain it away.

“Really Arthur. You’re overreacting. This’ll heal up just fine in a few days.”

“So it’ll be like the wound you got at the Isle of the Blessed, is that is?”

“Yes. Not even a scar, so don’t trouble yourself.”

Arthur ground his teeth together. That wound had nearly killed him. He stepped forward and finished unwinding the bandage himself. There was a thick, green paste coating a small circular wound. There was no doubt. This was no scrape. It wasn’t even a graze.

“God, Merlin! You’ve been shot!” He had to sit down, pushed Merlin onto the bench with him, started to reapply the bandaging. “Bors did this to you.”

“It’s fine. It was my own fault. I was trying to get as close as I could to make sure no one got hurt and I wasn’t paying enough attention.”

“You call this _fine!?"_

“Keep your voice down. And yes, it _is_ fine.”

Arthur kept a studious eye on the bandaging. He was too angry to look Merlin in the eye. “What if it hadn’t been your arm? What if he’d hit your heart? Your head? You could have died!” He pressed a hand over his mouth, as if to prevent his fear and anger from spilling out.

“I was being careful of that sort of thing. It would have never happened.”

“What would you say if it were me that had this wound?”

“That’s not a fair comparison. I’ll heal from this faster than you would from a little scratch.”

Arthur shook his head. “This isn’t what I imagined it would be like.”

“Leading the army?”

“No. Well… that too. But, when you said you would be with me today… You were there, but you weren’t at my side like you’ve promised in the past.”

“It’s not yet time for that.”

Arthur didn’t see why not. “I’m afraid it’s always going to be like this. You lurking in the shadows or riding off alone. Getting hurt for my sake. If that’s how it’s going to be, I’d rather you stay home.”

Arthur stood, intending to walk out. He didn’t even turn around when Merlin called his name or when he grabbed Arthur’s arm, forcing him to stop.

He kept his gaze locked on the door. “I held you once, convinced you were dying in my arms.” His voice came out rough. He soldiered on. “Please don’t make me go through that again.”

“You won’t. I promise. I’m a sorcerer. There’s not a lot that can kill me. I fully expect to outlive you.” Merlin said it like he was joking around, but there was a subtle quiver in his voice.

“Magic or no, you can’t promise things like that.”

There was a long pause, and Merlin’s grip on his arm tightened, crept toward painful, past it. He whispered, “I can.”

Merlin didn’t have to say anything more. Arthur finally turned to face him. “You know this from one of your visions at the Crystal Cave. Is that what you saw when we were there together?”

Merlin shook his head. “This was a long time ago.” He paused. Took a deep, shaky breath. “I don’t know how it’s going to happen, or when. I only know that one day, I’m going to have to watch you die.”

Merlin clenched his fists and locked his jaw in a vain attempt to keep his cheeks dry. Arthur had seen him like this before, always in the face of couples being separated by death. He might be reading too much into it, but Arthur took the risk and leaned forward to pull Merlin into a hug.

“I’m sorry you were forced to see that.” Arthur knew how terrible it felt to live through that scenario. He could only imagine the anxiety associated with knowing it was coming, in believing you were powerless to stop it. “Maybe you’re misinterpreting.”

“Maybe,” Merlin said, but Arthur could tell he didn’t believe it.

“If you _are_ right—” Merlin tensed in his arms. He wasn’t going to like hearing this, but Arthur had to say it. “—then I need you to know that there’s no one I’d rather spend my last moments with.”

Merlin hadn’t brought his hands up to Arthur’s back to reciprocate the hug, and he sniffed, trying to reign in his emotions. Arthur knew he should pull away before Merlin told him this was too much, but the man’s breathing was still shaky and uneven, and he shifted to hold Merlin closer instead, bent his neck to the side to rest their temples together.

He whispered, “You don’t have to keep painful things like this to yourself. You can tell me anything, Merlin. I mean it.”

Arthur was still wearing his armour, so it was a little hard to tell, but he didn’t think he was imagining it when he felt Merlin lean faintly into the embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always for reading. I know I haven't been good with replying to comments for the last few chapters, but I really appreciate the continued interest in my story. My summer pretty much sucked for various real life reasons related to my paid job and I fell behind with my writing. So just a warning in advance that there might be some larger gaps between chapters on down the road when we get to the last couple of chapters. I really hope that I'm able to make it up, but I just don't know at this point. Anyway, the job related issues are all worked out now (I got a new job that I like much better, yeah!) and I'm back into my normal writing routine!


	10. Smoke and Fire

“Arthur. Merlin,” Uther said from where he sat behind his desk. “I’ve called you here regarding a serious report I just received.”

A nervous flutter sprang up in Arthur’s gut. He’d been called to his father’s private chambers in the middle of his training session with the knights. Whatever he was about to say wasn’t good, and with Merlin here too… What if he’d found out about Arthur’s feelings? What if—

“A terrible illness is spreading through the village at the Ridge of Kemeray.”

The tension in Arthur’s body eased.

“Several villagers have already died.”

And he felt instantly guilty.

“We can’t afford a drop in production at the mine or the bloomeries.”

The village Uther spoke of was home to Camelot’s best iron ore mine and it was no surprise that he was more worried about production than the people.

“Of course, my lord,” Merlin said. “There are no pressing health issues here at the moment. I can travel to this village at once and treat the sickness at the point of infection.”

Arthur didn’t like the idea of Merlin traveling alone or of him treating a mass of people with a serious illness. What if he became ill too? Who would then care for him? He floundered for his best excuse.

“Surely you would not leave Camelot without a physician?” he said.

“Gaius can take over in the meantime. He’s been training under me for years now and can handle any of the typical illnesses. If something more urgent comes up, a messenger can be sent to the village to seek my council.”

“You’re sure Gaius is up to the task?” Uther said.

“He’s a natural. In a few more years, he could probably take over completely if that were needed.”

Arthur’s stomach dropped. He could only imagine one scenario that involved Gaius taking over as Court Physician. Merlin might have promised that he wouldn’t have to live through that, but there had to be at least a sliver of doubt in his mind. Otherwise, he’d have never written Arthur that note when he left for the Isle of the Blessed. Arthur still had it, kept it hidden away in his chambers where even George would never find it. He’d half expected the ink to fade again after Merlin recovered from his wound, but it never had.

Arthur switched tactics. “You can’t be meaning to go alone.”

“If we send soldiers, the people will panic.”

“I’ll send orders to the guardsmen stationed near the mine,” Uther said, referring to the small posting of soldiers assigned permanently to the village. “They will assist you as needed.”

Uther had introduced their service there at the beginning of his reign. He was smart enough to recognize the importance of a village with such a unique natural resource.

“He’ll still need an escort,” Arthur said to his father. “Just in case. I’ll go with him.”

Uther paused in thought, likely considering sending one of the knights instead. It was a testament to his level of concern that he let Arthur have his way. “Very well, but limit your contact with the sick. We can’t have you getting ill too.”

And that was how it happened that Arthur found himself riding through the castle gates with Merlin at his side just a few hours later. They didn’t speak a word until they were well out of the city and into the secluded safety of the woods.

“I hope you’re okay with me coming along to escort you,” Arthur began, trying to pick his words carefully. Merlin might have allowed a hug in a moment of distress, but that had been over a year ago now and nothing significant had changed between them in all that time. “What I mean to say is that I hope it doesn’t make you feel uneasy to be alone with me.”

Merlin looked over at him like he was a complete idiot and Arthur wanted to grin, wanted to move his horse closer so that he could reach out and push at Merlin in jest. He held back, unsure of what would be welcome, of what would be appropriate for two men trying to be friends.

“It’s all right. I need to focus on the task at hand though. I’m sure you understand.”

Arthur’s smile faded. They were on this trip because people were dying and here he was only thinking of himself and how he was getting to spend time alone with Merlin.

“Of course. I’m at your disposal, Merlin. If you have need of anything, just ask.”

“All right,” Merlin said with a strange little smile. “Thank you.”

They’d left Camelot in the early afternoon; there was no way to get to their destination before nightfall and as the day progressed, heavy clouds began to roll in. It would be best to find a place to bed down for the night and finish their journey in the morning. Arthur began looking for a good place to make camp hours before dusk but didn’t spot anything suitable until after the drizzle began. They were both soaked to the bone by the time Arthur spotted adequate shelter. The old fortress was half in ruins, but there was a portion with the roof still intact that looked stable.

Merlin gathered enough firewood for the night while Arthur saw to the horses.

When Arthur completed his task, he returned to their campfire to find that Merlin had rigged up a few branches nearby so that they could dry their soaked clothes.

“Come on, Arthur,” Merlin said. “Get out of those wet clothes. You won’t do the villagers any good if you wake up tomorrow too sick to help.”

Merlin had already peeled off his jacket, tunic, trousers, and boots and sat next to the fire wrapped in little more than a blanket. Arthur tried hard not to look, even though all there was to see was a few bare toes peeking out from the edge of the blanket.

Arthur tugged off his cloak, shook out what he could of the rain, and hung it by the fire to dry with Merlin’s things. He didn’t want it to seem like he was trying to show off, but he didn’t intend to hide either, so he tried to go about his business as if Merlin weren’t there at all. Arthur did sneak a few glances, but Merlin paid no attention to what he was doing. He wasn’t watching as Arthur stripped off his sodden tunic or as he struggled out of his clinging trousers.

Merlin slipped one thin, bare arm out from the protective warmth of his blanket to prod at the fire, sending sparks up into the air. He chattered away about the inconvenience of the rain, apparently having no difficulty in keeping his eyes away from Arthur’s bare skin. It was a little insulting really, but Arthur tired not to let his irritation show.

Once they were both warm and dry, they shared a simple meal of bread, cheese, and warm ale, and stretched out on their bedrolls on opposite sides of the fire for sleep.  

In the morning, Arthur was finally able to get a good look at their campsite. It had been too dark the night before to make a detailed assessment. They’d taken refuge in what must have once been the great hall. Creeper and moss clung to the stones, climbing toward the high ceilings. Off to the left, above a series of broken windows, a large section of the viny plants had been scorched away, leaving the bare stone blackened. The damage was too low to be from lightening, too high to have been from a campfire.

“This is strange,” Arthur said, pointing.

Merlin looked at the patch of charred vines, shrugged, and said, “Probably Kilgharrah.” He looked around. “Seems like the kind of place he might like to shelter in.”

“Kilgharrah?”

“Sure. You remember, don’t you? I told you about him when you were little.”

“But… that was just a story.”

Merlin cocked his head to the side, one eyebrow quirking up in a way that said, ‘Really, Arthur. You should have known better.’

The revelation filled his mind most of the morning until a horrific screeching echoed through the woods. Arthur glanced back at Merlin, who rode behind him along the narrow trail.

Merlin said, “Bird?”

The noise came again, louder this time, and Merlin changed his mind. “That’s no bird. It sounded like a girl.”

Arthur agreed and spurred his horse to a gallop. Soon they were riding through a break in the woods. A village lay ahead of them, small stone and thatch houses nestled together with livestock pens and stables. Along the east side of the village, a few wisps of smoke drifted up into the sky. In a field of grass to Arthur’s left, a mob of villagers headed toward a pole driven vertically into the ground. Even from this distance, he could see the stacks of firewood piled at the base. The man leading the procession held a lit torch in one hand and with the other, he dragged a struggling girl behind him. Arthur had found the source of the screams.

He raced out to meet them, threw himself down from his horse, and confronted the leader.

“What the hell is going on here?”

The girl looked like she couldn’t be more than 16.

The leader looked Arthur up and down. “Nothing of your concern, Sir Knight. We can handle our own affairs.”

“You’re about to execute this girl. I demand to know what crime she is accused of.”

The leader didn’t want to answer, but the rabble following along weren’t so tight-lipped. “She’s been corrupted by magic!”

“She cursed the whole village!”

The leader puffed out his chest. “She conjured a deadly sickness in this village. You’d best keep riding if you don’t want to take ill yourself. You or your,” the man paused to assess Merlin, “manservant.”

“Merlin isn’t my servant; he’s a physician. And I am Arthur Pendragon, son of your king.”  A few gasps came from the mob. “So unless you wish to be arrested, you will answer my questions.”

The leader pressed his lips into a narrow line, waited for more.

“You’ve accused this girl of causing an illness. What evidence do you have to support this claim?”

“We held a trial, my lord. This is all right and proper.”

Arthur lowered his tone. “I told you to provide evidence.”

The man squirmed under his gaze, said, “Her entire family took ill. First her two brothers, then her father. They all died, but she’s not even the slightest bit ill. She must be the source, otherwise she’d have got sick too.”

Arthur’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s it?”

Someone from the mob shouted, “What more proof do we need?”

“Her lover spurned her and now she wants us all to suffer!”

He looked to Merlin, flabbergasted. Merlin held his jaw clenched tight, but kept his face otherwise blank.

“We’re following the king’s law. Your father would agree with our sentencing. He’s executed dozens of sorcerers and witches since you were born, my lord.”

The leader turned, forcing the girl closer to the pyre. She screamed again. “I’ve done nothing wrong! Please! I loved my family! I never hurt them!”

Arthur acted on instinct. He grabbed the leader’s nearest arm and raised his voice. “I am taking the girl into my custody. If anyone wishes to dispute my authority in this matter, step forward now.” No one did.

The leader pushed the girl away in disgust and she stumbled into Arthur, looked up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes.

Arthur passed her over to Merlin, giving her a reassuring nod. Merlin put his hands on her shoulders in a way that would not only stop her from trying to run if her fear overcame her, but looked intimidating enough to ward off the mob.

The leader stormed back the village on his own, leaving the rest of the group milling around, unsure of what they were supposed to do now. Some still eyed the girl with suspicion, some with open hostility. Arthur needed them on his side. He turned to address them.

“You’re really the prince?”

“I am,” Arthur said, standing tall and firm, even if he felt out of his element. This wasn’t a fight he could win with his strength or sword. This was going to be a battle for hearts and minds.

“I know you’re scared. Your friends, neighbours, and family have taken ill, some have died, and there’s been nothing you could do to help. You worry what might have been done to cause this sickness. You worry about who will be next. You worry what will happen to your family if it’s you.” The people were all watching him now, their focus shifted away from the girl and the spectacle of an execution.  “King Uther has sent me to assist you with this crisis and I’ve brought with me our best physician.” He waved a hand in Merlin’s direction.

“There’s nothing he can do. There’s nothing anyone can do.” A man piped up. “This place is cursed!”

A woman said, “We should all leave!”

Arthur held up his hands in a placating gesture. “If you do take ill, you’ll need to be here, where you can receive the best treatment available. Not in some other village getting others sick and spreading fear.”

Arthur continued, offering reassurances that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to follow through on. The people didn’t seem to notice. When he finished his speech, the group of two dozen villagers began to disperse, looking significantly less threatening.  

Arthur turned, intending to escort the girl safely home and found Merlin watching him with a look that made Arthur want to blush.

“What is your name?”

“Ava, my lord.” The girl curtsied and thanked him for saving her life, then said, “If you mean to be staying in the village a while, you’ll need a place to stay. I would like to offer you my home.”

“That’s very generous.”

“It’s just…”

“What?”

“My father,” the girl said, “he’s inside, but… dead.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I can’t take care of his body on my own. But no one will help.”

“We will,” Merlin said.

The girl looked to Arthur and he nodded. “I only ask that you allow Merlin here to examine your father’s body first. He might be able to determine the cause of the illness and help save other’s lives.”

The girl agreed and led the way to her home.

The body of the girl’s father was the strangest corpse Arthur had ever seen. The skin wasn’t pale, but held an unnatural flush. Merlin picked up the man’s hand. Even his palms held the strange pigmentation.

“I can see why the villagers fear magic. This is highly unusual.” Merlin gave him a significant look.

“You mean,” Arthur whispered, “this isn’t just a disease you’ve not seen before? You think it really is magic?”

“I’ll need to examine a living patient to know for sure.”

Arthur could barely speak. He’d set off from home thinking this was a nasty flare-up of the winter flu. Now it was some sort of unnatural sickness? How was he supposed to help with that?

His eyes darted over to Ava, who was stoking the fire. “You don’t think it’s—”

“No. What motive could she have?”

After Merlin finished with the examination, they constructed a simple pyre and kept the girl company as she stood watch over the burning of her father’s remains. Only a few of the villagers bothered to come by to show their respects. Arthur didn’t recognize any of them from the mob that morning.

It was past dark by the time it was all taken care of and Arthur lamented the loss of what could have been a day of caring for the sick and looking for the cause of the illness. Fear and hatred of magic ruined not only the lives of those with magic, but also the lives of anyone accused, provided the accuser had enough authority.

There were only two beds in the house, but one had been Ava’s father’s and Merlin insisted it not be used until they discovered how the sickness spread. The girl tried suggesting that Arthur take the remaining bed but he refused, and she could hardly argue with her prince.

He and Merlin spread their bedrolls near the hearth, where Ava’s brothers used to sleep. There was little room, and Merlin was close enough to touch.

Ava was understandably exhausted and fell asleep long before the last candle was extinguished for the night. Arthur felt rather tired as well, but found himself staring in the dark at the thatch roof, unable to sleep. There was so much to think on—the dragon revelation that morning, the almost execution, the strange illness, and Merlin, lying next to him, breathing slow and even.

Arthur could have sworn he was asleep, but after some time, Merlin said, “You did well today, Arthur,” in a low voice.

Arthur turned his head to look at Merlin as best as he could. He had no idea what the man was talking about.

“Calming the crowd like that…”

“That was nothing.”

Sometimes, he really didn’t understand Merlin. Arthur was an excellent fighter. He was good with a sword and the lance. His mace work was coming along nicely, too. Merlin was never impressed by any of that but now Arthur says a few words to some villagers and suddenly he’s impressed?

“Humility doesn’t suite you,” Merlin chuckled. More seriously, he said, “You know I wouldn’t praise you if you didn’t deserve it.”

“Right,” Arthur said. “Can’t have my head swelling too big for my shoulders.”

Merlin turned his head to mirror Arthur’s posture and Arthur’s world narrowed to the space between their lips. All he would have to do is lean in, press their lips together… He closed his eyes a long moment and turned back to look at the ceiling. He’d promised to be patient after all.

-x-x-

Arthur groaned as Merlin shook him awake.

“Come on, up and at ‘em,” Merlin said, sounding far too chipper.

“The sun’s not even up yet.” He slurred his words together, not fully awake.

“It will be by the time you’re fed and dressed. The miners and smelters aren’t waiting for the sun to roll out of bed.”

“How about climbing off the floor?” His back felt stiff already, and he’d barely moved.

“Don’t complain now. You’re the one that insisted on sleeping there.”

“I couldn’t put a girl out of her bed.”

“How chivalrous.”

It should have been a compliment, but it felt more like Merlin was teasing him, and that was completely unfair. Arthur was the very model of chivalry! His eyes darted around, landed on Merlin’s bedroll where he had his dirty socks balled up near his pack. Without a second thought, Arthur lobbed them at Merlin’s head. The man ducked away just in time. ~~~~

Arthur sat up, rifled through his bag for a clean shirt, then clambered off the floor and over to the table where a bucket of water sat waiting for him with a fresh cloth draped over the side. He pulled off his shirt, tossed it carelessly onto his bedroll, and proceeded to have a refreshing little wash. His skin prickled, like someone was watching him, but he couldn’t look over his shoulder to see if it was Merlin. He’d be disappointed to find the man looking in the opposite direction and if Merlin _was_ looking, and Arthur caught him in the act, he would make sure not to do it again. As it was, Arthur was probably imagining the feeling. If Merlin had wanted to see Arthur’s bare skin, he could have looked his fill and then some just the day before.

There was porridge for breakfast and Arthur downed it as quickly as possible. It was terribly bland but he couldn’t do a good job with his work today if he were hungry.

Ava was out of the house by the time they left. Off to fetch more water or wash clothes or tend the bellows or whatever it was that women that age did in this village.

They spent the first part of the morning going door to door to assess the number of people affected by the illness and Merlin got his first look at a living patient. The boy was tiny—scrawny and barely old enough to be out of his mother’s sight for any amount of time. He lay in bed, scarcely moving as Merlin checked him over.  His skin was flushed bright red.

The boy’s mother sat by his bedside, weeping silently as she nursed the sick boy’s infant sister.

“It started a few days ago with a little cough, but he was still running around the smelting yard, playing like usual while his father worked building new furnaces. We didn’t think anything of it. Then he started stumbling about and saying he wanted to catch the giant toads at the well.”

Merlin’s eyebrows shot up. “Giant toads? Any chance he was playing pretend?”

The woman shook her head. “He was very insistent. After that, he started complaining that his head hurt. It wasn’t until after he started coughing blood that his skin took on this reddish tint.” She reached out to run a finger across her son’s cheek.  

After Merlin finished his assessment of the boy, they checked on half a dozen other villagers at varying stages of the illness. The symptoms varied slightly from person to person. Some had problems with their balance, some did not. Some slurred their words when they spoke. Others had no problem with their speech. Only a few reported hallucinations. Despite the variation, one thing became immediately apparent.

“Everyone that’s fallen ill is associated with the smelting,” Arthur said, stating the obvious. Even the little boy had a connection.

“That’s not surprising though,” Merlin said. “Most people here work with the smelting in some shape or form. There’s really only a few people that don’t. They don’t even have many farmers here.”

Arthur knew that already.  Most of the grain for the village was supplied by the king as it was more productive to have as many people as possible working the mine and smelting furnaces. If they had to grow all their own food, production would be a fraction of what it was.

“It is still worth looking into,” Merlin said.

The smelting furnaces were situated to the west of the mines and with the wind blowing through the area to the east, Arthur didn’t smell the fires until they were nearly upon them.

Ten smelting furnaces stood lined up in two rows, but only a few were actually being tended. Those that were in use had at least one person on the bellows, pumping away by hand to get the fire hot enough to melt out the slag so they could create an iron bloom.

The workers went about their tasks with drooping shoulders and sluggish movements. One woman paused her work, held her hands to her mouth and coughed violently. When she pulled her hands away, they were spotted with blood, which she scrubbed onto the skirt of her rough woolen dress before resuming her work at the bellows.

Merlin knelt beside her, laid a hand across her brow. “You’re burning up. You need to rest.”

“Can’t,” she said between coughs. “We’ll be low on our quota to the king. If we don’t supply him with the agreed allotment of finished iron ingots and rough iron blooms for his own smithies, he’ll stop supplying us with provisions. I have nowhere else to go. I don’t want to starve.”

“You won’t,” Arthur said, stepping up beside Merlin. The woman looked up at him, skeptical. “I swear to you that you won’t be held responsible for a low production rate because of this illness.”

“How can you make a promise like that? You’re not the king.”

“No, but I am his son, Arthur.”

Her eyes went wide. “I heard people talk last night, but I didn’t believe it. Thought my ears were playing tricks on me again.”

“The king heard of your plight and sent me and Merlin here to help you.”

The woman smiled up at him, her cough subsiding. “Thank you, my lord! I should have known better than to doubt King Uther. He has always been a fair and merciful king.”

Arthur wanted to feel good about that, and for a moment he did, felt proud to be the son of Uther Pendragon. Then he remembered what his father would do to Merlin if he found out he was still using magic, what he would do to Arthur if he knew he’d been keeping Merlin’s secret from him for years. ~~~~

He caught Merlin watching him, but couldn’t tell what the man was thinking.

“You should go home and rest.”

“Just a little longer, my lord. I’ll finish this bloom, then as you say, I’ll go rest.” She started another coughing fit.

Merlin rose to his feet and set about checking on the other workers.

“Can’t you heal them?” Arthur said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “With magic, I mean.”

“Maybe.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“I could try that. Waste time trying to get the antidote right. In the meantime, more people will have taken ill. I can’t stay here forever curing every person that falls ill individually. What we need to do is discover the source of the infection. Then we can cure everyone and prevent future cases.”

Arthur listened to every interaction, trying to find a way that he could contribute, but he wasn’t a healer. Even with Merlin’s lessons as a boy, his knowledge was limited. So instead, he looked for more patterns.

What he learned was that it was those that worked the fires that were the worst off. The miners, they became ill too, but not as quickly and the illness took longer to progress.

“I think it’s to do with the fires,” he said, then explained his reasoning. “With the direction of the wind, smoke from the fires would make its way over the mines, but wouldn’t affect the village.”

Merlin considered this. “Then it would have to be something in the smoke itself. Someone could be adding something to the fires, perhaps contaminating the ore or the charcoal.”

“Why would anyone do such a thing?” Arthur said, though he feared he knew the answer already.

“Without the miners and smelters of this village, Camelot’s army would be left wanting for weapons, farmers would be without the proper tools for ploughing the fields. Someone with a grudge against your father might well decide that this village and the people in it are expendable in order to weaken Camelot’s position among the kingdoms. Camelot might be left vulnerable to attack. I wouldn’t be surprised if Cenred, for example, would take advantage of such an opening to expand his influence.”

They split up after that to cover more ground. Merlin stayed with the smelters and Arthur walked to the east side of the village to speak with the men at the guard post.

The soldiers had a single house between them, but at least two were always on guard regardless of the time of day or night. Arthur started with the men currently on duty.

“Have you noticed anyone acting strangely? Anyone checking the charcoal stockpile or the furnaces who doesn’t have a reason to be?”

“My lord?” The man he spoke with had a dull look on his face. “The only strange thing I’ve noticed is that people be getting so sick.”

Definitely not the helpful type. Arthur turned toward the man’s companion.

“Uh, well. There’s that whole ruckus with Ava.”

“What happened?”

Arthur hadn’t wanted to trouble the girl with too many question about it yesterday. Not when the pain of her father’s loss and the trauma of barely escaping execution was so fresh.

“Sweetheart lost interest.”

Arthur didn’t see why that would be cause to harm the whole village, as that man leading the execution yesterday had seemed to believe.

“She took it hard, though honestly, it was a poor match to begin with.” The guard leaned in as if to impart a secret. “The lad is the charcoal maker’s son.”  The subtle sneer in the guard’s tone made it clear that he, like so many others, looked down upon those who made charcoal for a living. “Her father was the best smelter in the village.” He shook his head. “Not a suitable match at all.”

Arthur loved Camelot, but that didn’t mean there weren’t things he would like to see changed. Those with magic weren’t the only ones viewed with deep suspicion and hatred. The nobility looked down upon the peasantry. Peasants looked down upon those with the most unpleasant jobs regardless of how useful their service—the tanners, the charcoal makers—and everyone despised those with magic, no matter their social class.

“That very evening her brothers took sick. They were the first.”

The sun was already setting by the time he finished at the guard post so he headed back toward Ava’s, stopping to collect Merlin along the way. For all the man claimed that he couldn’t cure everyone individually, he could barely pull himself away from tending to a middle-aged mother long enough to feed himself.

Arthur told him about what he’d learned as they sat down to a meal of thin soup. 

“I want Camelot to be a place where everyone is treated with respect regardless of their occupation or station in life.” He wasn’t sure how he would do that yet, or if it was even possible, but one day he would get his chance and he was determined to try.

Merlin stared at him from across the table.

“What?”

Arthur wiped his mouth thinking he must have a dribble of soup down his chin. Merlin just kept staring.

“What is it?”

“You’re a good man, Arthur.”

Arthur’s breath caught in his throat. Merlin had never referred to him as a man before.

“One day, you’ll make a great king.”

Arthur cleared his throat with a small cough, suddenly eager for a change in topic. He turned to Ava. “I’m sorry to bring up a sore topic, but could you tell me about what happened between you and the charcoal maker’s son?”

The girl’s already somber expression fell even further. “I don’t understand it, my lord. Rylan said he loved me. I know he meant it. One day, he’s saying how he wants us to marry, saying he’s going to ask my dad. The next, he walks by me in the village square like he doesn’t even recognize me.”

“He didn’t give you an explanation?”

“When I confronted him, he told me to stay away. Said he’d hurt me if I didn’t.” She paused to dab at her eyes. “That’s not like him at all. He’s not a violent sort of person. Just this past autumn, he nursed an injured deer back to health. Most would have taken it home for supper.

“I don’t understand what could have happened. His family wasn’t against me. They say he’s acting strange toward them as well. He won’t let anyone get close. After people started coming down sick, I thought maybe he was ill himself and didn’t want anyone else to get infected, but I saw him in the village yesterday and he looked fine.”

Arthur obtained directions to the charcoal maker’s hut and went straight there after breakfast the next morning. The lad’s father directed him down a forest trail where he found the boy hacking away at a tree as if it had done some grievous injustice against him. Arthur wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but this was not it.

Rylan only answered Arthur’s questions in simple sentences. Two, three words at the most.

“Halig,” the boy growled as though the name would explain everything. Arthur’d seen that name on the roster of guards. He was scheduled for duty that night.

“You’re going to have to give me more than that to go on.”

“Was jealous.”

“That Ava loves you?”

The boy nodded.

“Did he threaten you?”

The boy growled again, which Arthur took for assent.

It was highly rude, considering Arthur was the boy’s prince, but he had more pressing matters to attend to than surly peasants. “You’ve been terribly helpful,” Arthur said in a flat tone, then returned to the guard post at the edge of the village.

Heavy curtains covered the windows to allow the guards that worked overnight to sleep during the day, but even with the poor light, Halig’s skin looked sickly—unusually pale, maybe even a bit grey.  He lay in his cot, but unlike the other men that worked his shift, Halig wasn’t sleeping.

Arthur said, “You’re Halig.”

“Yes.” His voice sounded much deeper than he expected. Rylan and Ava were about Arthur’s age, maybe a little younger. This man sounded as if he were 40 at least.

Arthur should be the last one to judge a man for wanting someone outside his generally accepted age, but this wasn’t like him and Merlin. It wasn’t even like Lucan and Madoc. Ava already loved someone else. Someone her own age. She clearly wasn’t the least bit interested in this Halig fellow.

“And you know Rylan and Ava?”

“No.”

Arthur’s eyes went wide. That was not the answer he’d been expecting. He hadn’t even meant it as a real question, just a way to start the conversation.

“No?”

“No.”

“Then you’re not in love with her?”

Another of the guards walked in. “Course he is. Pines away every day. ‘Oh, look how lovely she is. If only that Rylan were out of the way.’” The guard grinned and looked at Arthur. “He’s hardly fit to be around when he’s off on one of his tirades. If he’s not complaining about Rylan, he’s complaining about being stuck out here at the mines. As if this were any of our first choices. I’d rather be in Camelot meself, but I’ll go where the king commands.”

Halig seemed to reassess the situation. “Oh, right.”

“Strange though. You haven’t said a single word about her for the last two weeks. Not since the illness started.”

“More important things to worry about,” Halig said, though there was something odd about his tone, as if he were just saying what he expected his fellow guard to hear. Trying to appease him in some way. Arthur didn’t see the point.

The man pulled a cloak around himself and left the building without taking leave. Arthur followed, fed up with the people in this village and their propensity for poor manners. He put his hand on the man’s shoulder to turn him around. Even through the layers of fabric, his skin felt not just cool, but cold to the touch. The man spun, drew his sword. Arthur responded in kind, but the guard managed to get in a complete swing before Arthur had drawn his weapon. He was forced to step back lest the man strike him, and the guard used the opportunity to sprint away.

Arthur took off in pursuit, certain he’d soon catch up seeing as the guard didn’t appear to be in the best physical shape, but somehow the man outpaced him. Arthur was left turning in circles in the woods, wondering which way the guard had gone. Arthur headed back to the village to inform Merlin, convinced that they’d found the man responsible for poisoning the village.

“I don’t think we’ll find him again.”

“We might not have to.”

“What makes you say that?”

“People have been falling ill here for more than a week. If the guard has been putting something in the fires, it hasn’t been a one-time thing. He’s probably been doing it every day. Maybe now you’ve found him out—assuming we’re right—he’ll give up and people can start to get better.”

“That, or he’ll come back when he thinks no one is watching and try again.”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Ah, I see. And we’ll be ready for him.”

Merlin nodded. “We’ll be ready.”

They organized the remaining guard members to help with their surveillance. The men regularly scheduled for the evening watch with Halig were in their usual places. The rest kept watch through windows or cracked doors.

Merlin and Arthur crouched close in the shadows between stacks of firewood outside the blacksmith’s forge. The stockpile of charcoal that would be used the next day sat within view near the smelting furnaces. They’d been there since sundown. Merlin shifted beside him.

“Shh.”

“I can’t help it,” Merlin whispered. “My feet are falling asleep. What good will I be if I can’t even stand when the guard comes?”

“You don’t have to do anything, Merlin. I’ll take care of him.”

Merlin started to complain, but Arthur put his hand over the man’s mouth. “I think someone’s coming.”

Arthur waited, muscles tense. Moments later, a badger passed not five feet in front of them, nose snuffling along the ground, looking for a meal. Arthur let his hand drop and hoped Merlin wouldn’t renew his protests.

If Merlin were to take care of this, he’d be wanting to use magic. This village was already filled with magic fearing vigilantes. Arthur could take the guard down himself.

After two more hours, there was another rustling of leaves as the guard appeared from the woods opposite the furnace yard. Arthur waited for the man to draw closer. He wanted to catch the man in the act. Halig crept through the shadows to the charcoal stockpile, then without so much as a furtive look around, pulled a small pouch from his belt. Arthur leapt to his feet and bolted after the man.

He ploughed into the guard, knocking them both off their feet. Once on the ground, Arthur sat up, and struggled to get his hands on the man’s arms to pin him down. “What are you doing?” Arthur shouted.

The guard growled at him and the noise barely sounded human. With his free arm, he took a swing at Arthur. The blow landed with far more force than Arthur expected. In the stun of the injury, Arthur loosened his grip and the man was able to pull a knife from his boot. Arthur had to draw back to avoid getting stabbed. They both scrambled to a stand.

“Move back, Arthur,” Merlin said.

“No,” he said as he drew his sword. “I’m handling this. Stay out of it. Go call the other guards if you want to be helpful.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

Arthur expected no less and in truth, it wasn’t even necessary. The commotion had roused the villagers and alerted the guards. He could hear them running in this direction.

Halig tucked his knife into his belt and pulled his sword from the sheath at this waist instead. He lunged forward with a powerful swing.

Arthur was soon dripping with sweat. Merlin, the other guards, and a few villagers that had been roused by the noise, stood around watching the fight. Any time one of them stepped in to help, Arthur warned them off. He didn’t want anyone getting hurt. This man was stronger than any guard he’d ever met. He was fierce enough to be a knight, if the laws allowed for a commoner to be knighted.

Finally, he saw an opening, dropped to one knee to get below the man’s defenses, and plunged his sword into the guard’s chest, straight toward his heart. He should have crumpled straight to the ground with such a wound, but when Arthur pulled his blade from Halig’s body, the man stepped forward, brought his arm back and—

The next thing Arthur knew, he was blinking up at Merlin. He groaned, trying to work out where he was and how he’d got here.

“Ugh.” He tried to sit up. Merlin held him down with one hand on his shoulder.

“You’re lucky, Arthur. He could have killed you just now.”

Arthur’s head was too addled to recall who ‘he’ was at the moment, but there was one thing he knew to be true regardless. “You’d never let that happen.”

“Hmm. Well. Everyone seems to think it was your armour that just saved your life, so we can at least be grateful for that.” Merlin leaned in close to prod at Arthur’s head and thumb at his eyelids. “Can’t see much out here in the dark. The other guards are trying to chase Halig down. I doubt they’ll have any luck.” Merlin looked to the moonless sky. “Why did it have to be so damn cloudy?”

“I should be helping.” It was starting to come back to him now.

“No, you should be resting. Let me take you back to Ava’s. We can regroup in the morning.”

Arthur allowed Merlin to help him stand. The world felt as though it tilted beneath his feet as he did, but Merlin kept him from stumbling too much. He’d clearly taken a blow to the head, though he wasn’t sure if it was from Halig or a fall at this point.

Arthur felt much better in the morning. He attributed the improvement to the vile smelling, though strangely not so terrible tasting, potion that Merlin made him drink before he’d succumbed to sleep for the night.

Once the sun was up, they returned to the charcoal stockpile to look for any clues that might lead back to Halig, and Arthur quickly spotted the pouch the guard had dropped the night before. With all that had happened, he’d completely forgotten about Halig’s original plans.

Merlin picked up the empty pouch then lowered himself onto his hands and knees to inspect the spilled contents. He ground his thumb into a bit of the powder, touched it to the tip of his tongue, then immediately spat it back out.

“This is belladonna.”

Arthur knew the signs of belladonna poisoning. “That can’t be right.” Some of the symptoms matched, but belladonna wasn’t supposed to produce a cough.

Merlin closed his eyes for a long moment. “The effect has been enhanced with magic.”

Of course. Magic. Again _._

“Why even bother? Say Cenred or someone else wants to destroy Camelot’s capacity to smelt iron. I get why they’d want to avoid sending soldiers. It would be too easy to find out who was behind the attack, but wouldn’t it be a lot simpler to just poison the well? A bottle of aconite in the water supply would get the same result.”

Merlin shrugged. “I suppose a soldier reaches for a sword when he has a problem, while a blacksmith goes for his hammer. A sorcerer…”

“Right. So what do we do now? We can’t be here every night to ward Halig away, and Father will want production back at peak capacity as soon as possible.”

“We need to figure out how the enhancement is being done. I can’t make a proper antidote without that information.”

There was no known natural antidote to belladonna, let alone magically enhanced belladonna. Camelot was lucky that Merlin was willing to use his gifts for their benefit.

They spoke with the guards who’d followed Halig in the direction of the mines after last night’s fight. By the time they finished with their questioning and returned to Ava’s to consider their options, Arthur’s memory was clear up until just moments before he was knocked unconscious. “I was certain I’d managed a killing blow.”

Merlin considered for a moment. “I… believe you.”

Arthur blinked in surprise. He’d expected to have to argue his point.

“I thought I must have imagined it in the dark, but now you mention it, I saw it too. He should be dead. Maybe he already is.”

Arthur laughed, but it sounded nervous more than amused. “What?”

“You said his skin was cold to the touch, and what should have been a mortal wound had no effect.”

“Yes, but Merlin, the dead can’t move. Or talk or…”

“They can if a powerful enchantment demands it.”

“You said the cause of the illness was magic too.”

“Obviously a single sorcerer… or sorceress, is responsible for both. They wanted to attack the village, but needed someone who wouldn’t draw attention to do the dirty work for them.”

“A dead man?”

“It takes a lot of power to raise the dead like that, but it can be equally as difficult to circumvent the will of a living individual. The latter is actually more difficult if you don’t have the right tools.” Merlin paused. “I only know of one person that’s capable of magic like this. I’m not saying it’s her, but…”

“Who?”

“Her name is Morgause. She used to occupy a spot in your father’s court.”

Arthur had noticed it before—how Merlin referred to Uther as ‘your father’ instead of ‘the king’ like everyone else did, like he was supposed to do.

“If it _is_ her, I think I might know how she would have gone about enhancing the effects of the poison.”

When Arthur didn’t respond, Merlin said, “She’s smart, plans everything ahead. She would have tied the spell for the poison to the one she used on Halig. It’d be self-sustaining that way. As least for a while. And by the time she’d accomplished her goal here, the enchantment used to animate Halig would have weakened enough to make him easier to dispose of.”

Arthur didn’t quite follow the explanation and was sure he didn’t fully understand the implications. He was stuck on something much more basic. “These are innocent people. Why would she do any of this? She hates my father that much? Because of his stance on magic?”

“Yes. And because of all the executions he’s ordered.”

This brought up a topic Arthur had been wondering about for a long time. “How come you’re not like her?”

Merlin looked over at him, confused.

“I mean, Father’s wrong about magic. What he’s done is horrible and yet you continue to work for him. How can you stand it?” Even though Arthur loved his father, he had trouble with this himself.

Merlin’s smile set a spark low in Arthur’s gut. “Several reasons, but I thought at least one was perfectly obvious.”

“You mean… For me?”

“I believe in you, in the kind of king you will be. I want to see that. I want to help you. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“You still don’t have to work for him. You could leave.”

“How could I protect you if I did that?”

“I could go with you,” Arthur said, bracing himself for yet another rejection. It didn’t come.

“Your father would never stand for that. He’d send the knights to retrieve you. You could never convince them you left of your own free will. We’d constantly be on the run.”

Arthur knew he was right.

“One day you’ll be king, and you can rule as you see fit. Until then, you can still do more good in Camelot than you could hiding in some remote village.”

Arthur had to look away. He didn’t deserve any of that. He hadn’t done anything worthy of such loyalty, at least not yet. “So, ummm…” He tried to redirect the conversation to mask his embarrassment. “You were saying something about a tool that can take away someone’s will?”

“I’m using the term loosely. Merely dampening someone’s will temporarily is not so difficult with just a spell. It leaves the person in an innocent, sometimes childlike state, where they’re highly impressionable—susceptible to suggestion.” Merlin paused in thought. “But to compel a person in that state requires a strong degree of trust between the two people before the spell takes hold. Otherwise, the person’s likely to be frightened. If the sorcerer didn’t know Halig beforehand, I doubt this method could be employed. Now there is a way to completely circumvent a person’s will, but this requires the use of a Fomorroh.”

“A what?”

“It’s a strange creature—a snake with multiple heads. The sorcerer removes one of the snake’s heads and implants it at the base of the victim’s neck.”

Arthur turned his lips down. “That’s revolting, Merlin.”

“I agree.”

“You would never do anything like that.”

Merlin smiled at him. “No.”

The swift denial made Arthur feel a little better about it. Merlin knew a great many things. Some of them quite terrible. That didn’t mean he was terrible himself.

“But even if I wanted to, I doubt it would be possible. I don’t think there are any of the creatures left alive today.”

“Doesn’t sound like so great a loss.”

“Perhaps not, considering the way some abused their power, but I still hate to see the last of any creature.”

“So what did this sorcerer do? How do we defeat it?”

“I think we may be dealing with a wraith, and if we’re going to defeat it, we’ll need some help.”

“Help? I thought you could do anything.”

Merlin shook his head. Not as pleased as Arthur would have expected him to be at such a compliment. “You give me too much credit. I’ve made a lot of mistakes over the years. I’ve failed so many people.”

Arthur had never heard the man talk like this before. Usually he was so full of optimism and hope, compassion and faith. He put his hand on Merlin’s shoulder.  “I don’t believe that. You’ve never failed me.”

“I have.” Merlin looked down to avoid Arthur’s gaze.

Arthur didn’t know what to make of the confession. He had no idea what Merlin could be talking about. “You take too much weight on yourself. You’re just one man, Merlin. You can’t do everything on your own. I hope you’ll let me do what I can to help. I’m not…” He was going to say ‘a child’ but decided to rephrase. “I’m able to make my own decisions. Just tell me what you need me to do. You said we need help. Whose help do we need?”

“An old friend.”

“That’s suitably vague and mysterious.”

Merlin finally smiled again. “Well, I am an ancient sorcerer. It’s kind of what we do.”

“Your sense of humour is terrible, Merlin. I’m not sure why I ever thought you were funny.”

Merlin laughed, clearly not offended. “Here. Let me see your sword.”

Arthur drew his weapon and passed it over to Merlin, hilt first.

“What on earth have you been doing to this blade? You’ve got nicks all over the thing. No, this won’t do at all.”

“Won’t do for what? And it’s not my fault that Halig has some sort of crazy inhuman strength. That’s where the damage came from.”

“We’ll have to find you a new one. The only way I know of to kill the undead is with a blade forged in the dragon’s breath.”

“Dragon’s breath,” Arthur deadpanned. “So this ‘old friend’ you mentioned, it’s Kilgharrah, right? Last Great Dragon, Kilgharrah?”

Merlin nodded.

“Great. Perfect. We’ve got a village full of sick people. More people dying every day and we need to go on a hunt for the one dragon left in the whole world. A dragon that everyone but you and me—and not even me until a few days ago—thinks is long dead. How hard can that be?”

“Don’t get so worked up, Arthur. It won’t be nearly so difficult as you’re thinking.” Merlin took a deep breath and Arthur could see that this was another confession in the making. “You remember that story I used to tell you about a dragonlord?”

“Yes…” Arthur didn’t like where this was going. Swapping a quest to find a dragon for a quest to find a dragonlord didn’t seem like an improvement of their circumstances. Unless…

“Well, you see…”

“ _Merlin_ …” In that story, the dragonlord had also been a powerful sorcerer.

“What I mean to say, is…”

And the dragonlord had only came to his powers after a chance meeting with his father, who he’d never known growing up. Merlin, he knew, had been raised by his mother, Hunith. He’d been 16 when she married. But that man, the father of Merlin’s half-brother Will, was not Merlin’s father.

“This is fabulous, Merlin. You’re a dragonlord. Were you ever planning on telling me? Are all the stories you told me as a boy true?”

Merlin had the decency to look ashamed. “I told you I was a sorcerer. That’s a lot more important. There is only the one dragon left, and I haven’t seen him in ages. Not much point really.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “It’s not about the practicality of the matter, Merlin. It’s about sharing something important about yourself with me. I guess you don’t see the benefit that would have.” He frowned, steadied himself so his voice wouldn’t tremble when he said, “I keep forgetting that you don’t put the same value on our personal relationship that I do.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“Do I?” He said, more harshly than he’d meant to. He scrubbed his hands across his face. “I’m not… I’m not going to say it again.” Not today, anyway. “But you know how I feel. That’s not changed. It’s… It’s not going to either. I’m not telling you this to make you feel bad or to… I’m not asking anything of you. I just want you to understand why I’m angry. You let me go on thinking actual events from your life were nothing more than children’s tales.”

“I never said they _weren’t_ true.”

“Don’t put this back on me!” Arthur snapped. “You knew I didn’t really believe them.” The walls felt like they were closing in on him suddenly. He strode the few steps to the door.

Merlin said, “I shouldn’t have allowed myself to be so close to you when you were little.”

Arthur paused, hand on the door latch.

“It was selfish. You’d never have even noticed me.”

 _“What?”_ Was this the supposed failing Merlin had mentioned? Was he saying he’d rather they were mere acquaintances? Arthur’s heart clenched at the thought. As if he would ever trade knowing Merlin just to avoid a little heartache.

He wouldn’t be the person he was today without Merlin in his life; all his flaws would have been magnified. Merlin’s influence helped balance him. He could imagine himself an arrogant prat of a prince, believing he was better than the servants because he was born into a noble house. And he’d have grown up hating magic like his father wanted. Who knew what he would have let happen at that druid camp if not for Merlin. Innocent women and children would have died and it would have been his doing. How could he have borne that on his conscience? Just the thought of it made him weak in the knees.

He couldn’t believe Merlin would even suggest such a thing, that he would want to take all the good things he brought to Arthur’s life away from him. He didn’t even try to hold back; he unleashed his fury at a volume that could no doubt be heard by all the neighbours. “I never knew you could be such a _useless idiot!”_

“Well congratulations, Arthur,” Merlin spat back. “You finally found me out. I’m just a foolish old man who makes a mess of everything he touches.”

Merlin had tossed in that old man bit just to irritate him, Arthur could tell. He looked the physician up and down as if seeing him for the first time. They’d never fought like this before. Not with both of them angry and bitter.

“I don’t even know you, do I Merlin?”

“Now you’re being ridiculous.”

Arthur shook his head. “No, I’m not. You’re always lying. Or keeping secrets.”

“We’ve talked about this.”

“No, _we_ haven’t. You decided to keep things from me all on your own.” Arthur turned back toward the door, yanked up the latch.

“Maybe it’s better this way. If you hate me—”

“I don’t hate you, Merlin. I just can’t be around you right now.” And he wrenched the door open and stormed off.

A middle-aged man pushing an empty wheelbarrow down the road paused to regard him. Arthur wasn’t in the mood to even say hello. He crossed the road, passed the houses on the other side and into the woods at the edge of the village. When he was far enough into the trees that he could barely see the buildings when he looked back, he sat down and leaned his head against the trunk of an elm tree, brought his fist down hard on the ground beside him.

Gwaine’s annoying voice popped into his head. _Ignoring each other’s faults… They’re completely in love!_

It wasn’t that he hadn’t known on some level that Merlin had flaws. Everyone did. But Arthur had never really noticed them before. Not like this. Did this mean he was falling out of love with Merlin? Was this the reason Merlin had never summoned up the courage to tell Arthur how he really felt? Because he knew this moment was coming?

His stomach churned; he wanted to be sick. He coughed instead and when he drew his hand away from his mouth, found tiny specks of blood on his palm. He didn’t have time to be brooding about personal affairs. He should be helping the people of this village. Merlin thought he needed a better sword. Maybe the blacksmith would have something suitable.

Halfway there, he spotted Merlin heading in the same direction.

Merlin rushed toward him. “Arthur, I’m sorry. I—”  

Arthur cut him off. He wasn’t ready to deal with this issue again just yet. “We should focus on finding a sword suitable for whatever it is you have planned. Feel free to leave out all the important bits you like.” He wasn’t in the wrong this time. He refused to apologize.

After a few moments, he heard the sounds of Merlin’s boots as the man followed after him. They never quite caught up, though Arthur wasn’t going fast. If Merlin wanted to sulk in self-pity or have some time to reprimand himself, Arthur wasn’t going to dissuade him.

It was a short walk to the forge. Once there, Merlin finally pulled himself back together and asked the blacksmith, Elyan, for “the best sword you have.”

Arthur’s hopes hadn’t been high. His day was nothing but surprises. What the blacksmith produced was the single most impressive sword he’d ever handled. He gave it a few test swings. “The balance is nearly perfect.”

The blacksmith beamed with pride.

“How is it that a rural blacksmith came to make such a fine sword? Was it a commission?”

“No, my lord. I meant it as a show piece to prove my talent. I have a sister in Camelot. I left after our parents died, but I always thought that one day I’d go back for her sake. Our father was a blacksmith, but spending my days making nails and shoeing horses doesn’t appeal to me. I’d rather work for the king supplying the royal armory.”

“With this kind of skill, you could take over the royal forge. Our swordsmith’s best is nowhere near this good.”

Elyan tried to give them the sword, saying Arthur’s good word with Uther would be fee enough. Merlin wouldn’t have it. He wouldn’t let Arthur pay for it either. He insisted on using his own money and gifting the blade to him.

“I don’t want you to buy my forgiveness, Merlin.”

“That’s not what this is.” And maybe he wasn’t lying, because he didn’t give the sword to Arthur straight away. He returned to Ava’s, wrapped it in cloth, and strapped it to the saddle of his horse before riding out of the village. Merlin didn’t ask Arthur to come along, but Arthur followed after him anyway with enough distance that Merlin didn’t realize he was there until they were a full two miles outside the village, and that was only because they’d come to a sizable clearing in the woods where there wasn’t cover enough for Arthur to hide.

Merlin mumbled something under his breath, but didn’t try sending him back. Instead, he tipped his head back and roared, shouted at the sky. The only word Arthur understood was ‘dragon.’

Arthur remembered this was how the dragonlord in the stories, how _Merlin_ , called Kilgharrah from a distance. They stood there waiting, Arthur quickly losing patience, Merlin looking a bit too smug for Arthur’s liking.

The sound of rushing wind started low and grew steadily louder, Arthur’s hair swirled in a sudden breeze, and moments later, a huge dragon was settling itself to the ground in front of them. Arthur’s mind boggled. Though he was confident Merlin wouldn’t let the beast hurt them, it was still an intimidating sight. He’d never seen a beast so large. It was a wonder it could fly at all.

“Hello, my old friend,” Merlin said.

There was a strange sound, like the very air was resonating around him. Then the dragon spoke. And of course it did. Arthur wasn’t sure why he was surprised by anything at this point. The dragon in the stories could talk after all, had a proclivity for answering questions with riddles and spouting off vague prophesies.

“It has been a long time since you last called me, Merlin. I thought I would never see you again.”

“Uther still reigns in Camelot. It’s safer for you to stay away.”

“And yet you call me here today.”

“I have a favour to ask of you.”

Before Merlin could explain, the dragon said, “Who is that standing there with you?”

“This is Prince Arthur Pendragon.”

“Ah, the Once and Future King!” The dragon dipped his head as if in a small bow. “I had not realized the time was so near.”

Merlin cut in before the dragon could elaborate and requested that the sword be burnished.

“You both must promise me that this sword will only ever be wielded by Arthur. The power contained within will be too much for me to trust to any other.”

“I promise,” Merlin said.

The dragon shifted its big yellow eyes to him. Arthur just stood there. “You must promise me as well, young prince.”

“I don’t see how I’m deemed so worthy in your eyes, but I do promise.”

The beast laughed at him. “You can be far more humble than I would have expected for one with such a great destiny awaiting him. I expect this is your influence, Merlin. He’s nothing like his horrible father at all. Very well. I will do as you ask.”

“Step closer, Arthur,” Merlin said.

Arthur didn’t move.

“Move closer or stand back with the horses.”

Arthur moved to stand at Merlin’s shoulder, and Merlin took a half step in front of him.

Merlin lifted the sword high above his head, held his other hand out in front of his body. The dragon took a deep breath, then let it out as fire along the blade. Merlin turned his face away from the heat, but Arthur watched, entranced as Merlin produced a scarcely visible shield around them to deflect the flames.

Then it was over, the dragon flew off, and Merlin presented the sword on his upturned palms.

The blade had a gold inlay that Arthur hadn’t noticed before. Strange writing trailed down the length of the inlay. “What do these marks mean on the blade?”

Merlin angled his head to read the text. “It says, ‘Take me up’ on this side.” He turned the blade over. “And on this one, it says, ‘Cast me away.’”

“What does that mean?”

“I think it means we have everything we need.”

Arthur accepted the sword, wondering if Merlin had learned to be frustratingly cryptic from Kilgharrah or if the talent had come to him naturally. He must have let his irritation show in his expression.

Merlin said, “Let’s go take care of the wraith. If I’m right about who’s behind all this, once that creature is vanquished, I’ll be able to make an effective remedy to heal the sick villagers.”

As they passed back through the village, Arthur spotted Rylan unloading a cart of newly made charcoal and Ava walking nearby, hauling a bucket of water from the well. Rylan stared after her, a deep frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. He looked like anything but a man who’d lost interest.

Arthur rode up to the boy and nodded his head toward Ava so he would know what Arthur was talking about. “Changing your mind?”

“Never changed my mind about her,” the boy said, then scowled, as if only now realizing he’d spoken out loud.

“Oh?”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s better this way.”

_Maybe it’s better this way. If you hate me—_

Arthur shouldn’t be getting involved in private matters like this but… “I don’t think she agrees with you. Now’s the time to come clean. What happened?”

The boy looked around. “Elyan said you and the physician are going to fight Halig.”

This was not the route Arthur had expected this conversation to take. They were supposed to be talking about Ava.

“Won’t do any good. I know it sounds crazy, but I swear he’s already dead.”

Arthur cocked his head to the side. The boy was surprisingly well informed. “And what makes you say that? Dead men don’t walk around in my experience.”

“I don’t know what that thing is, but it’s not Halig. He can’t be alive. I killed him myself.”

Arthur couldn’t keep the surprise from his face.

“Are you going to arrest me? It’s no less than I deserve.”

Murderers don’t typically confess so willingly. “That depends on just how it happened.”

The boy looked down, scrapped at the ground with the toe of his boot. “There’d been a storm the night before and I was out in the forest, working a fallen tree into logs small enough to cart back home. Suddenly, Halig was there, raving about how I was in his way. I think he was drunk. He wasn’t making any sense. My cart wasn’t blocking the path or anything. It wasn’t until later that I understood.”

“He was talking about your relationship with Ava.”

Rylan nodded. “Apparently everyone in the village knew he was in love with her. He drew his sword and lunged toward me. I thought he was going to kill me. Next thing I know, I’ve got my axe buried in his chest and he’s bleeding on the ground. I tried to help him, but it was too late. I was so scared, I just left his body there. Didn’t tell anyone.” The boy looked ready to cry.

“You were defending yourself. There’s nothing illegal about that.”

“I never thought I was capable of something so horrific. Ava always said I was gentle. She liked that about me.”

“She’ll understand. You think she wanted you to let him kill you instead?”

“I could have just wounded him.”

Arthur shook his head. “It’s one of the first lessons every soldier in the army is taught. When a man is trying to kill you, there’s no room for holding back.”

When Rylan still didn’t look convinced, Arthur decided he was done with these two. He couldn’t help them if they were so set on being fools—the boy for trying to protect his love from something he thought was horrible but that no one else would blame him for and the girl for failing to see through his poorly constructed charade. She should know him better, should be able to see what he was doing. Arthur could see it and he barely knew either of them.

As they started back on their way, Merlin coughed and Arthur whipped his head round.

“It’s nothing,” Merlin said. “I’m fine. Just a tickle in my throat.”

“Don’t bother with your lies, Merlin. I’ve started coughing too and you spent a lot more time in the smoke of the furnace yard than I did.”

“You’re getting sick?” Merlin said, his voice full of concern.

Arthur rolled his eyes. He was doing it _again_. “Let me see if I have this right. You’re allowed to be worried about me, but I’m not allowed to worry about you?”

A muscle twitched below Merlin’s left eye.

Arthur looked back at Rylan’s receding form. He wasn’t only making himself miserable by pushing Ava away, but at least his intentions were noble. He returned his gaze to Merlin, took a calming breath. He had no intention of ending up like Ava.

“Look. I understand that you felt you needed to protect me from things like this when I was little, but you can’t keep it up forever.”

“I know and I’m trying, Arthur. Honestly I am.”

Arthur let out his breath in a huff. He knew he should be grateful for the effort, but it was hard to feel it after all the hurt Merlin had caused him today.

They rode out to the place where the guards lost sight of Halig the night before. From there, they used a combination of Arthur’s tracking skills and Merlin’s magic to find their way to the entrance of an abandoned mine. Merlin claimed the wraith was inside.

Merlin stumbled when he dismounted, but regained his footing quickly enough that Arthur wasn’t sure if it was the sickness, or just the uneven terrain. He’d have asked, but he wasn’t confident in Merlin’s ability to tell him the truth.

Merlin summoned up a glowing ball of blue light and they entered the mine together. The soil here was red with ore and it carried a distinct odor, like an old sword left out in the elements to rust.

About a hundred feet from the entrance, they found the wraith standing alone with no torch, candle, or lantern of his own. If not for Merlin’s magic, they’d be standing in complete darkness. Perhaps the creature didn’t need to see, not in the mortal way.

Arthur drew his sword, motioned Merlin to stay back. “I’ll handle this. Just keep the light going.”

If anything, the intensity of the light increased. “Be careful.”

The wraith didn’t have anything to say, but lunged forward, sword swinging in heavy but controlled maneuvers. As Arthur countered, he found his muscles were sore from their fight the night before and he grunted with effort. The grunt quickly turned to a cough that Arthur could do nothing to control. Busy as his arms were, he couldn’t even cover his mouth and when blood came up with the air, he spat it out in front of him, unable to take his eyes off his opponent.

The wraith had no mercy and pressed his advantage. Arthur blocked with his shield, muscles trembling. With a particularly shocking blow, his strength gave out and the shield slammed back into his face. His nose crunched and blood ran down across his lips, seeped into his mouth, and dripped off his chin onto the dusty ground.

“Arthur!”

“’m all right.” He could barely get the words out.

Merlin’s light began to pulse erratically. It never went completely dark, but Arthur could feel Merlin’s anxiety in the fluctuations. It did nothing to help Arthur’s concentration when Merlin began a coughing fit of his own.

Arthur fumbled, lost his shield. He lurched in close to cover his mistake and restrict the wraith’s ability to swing its sword. They struggled for several long moments, then the wraith produced his short dagger, pulled his arm back in preparation, and tried to skewer Arthur through the heart.

“ _ARTHUR!_ ” Merlin’s scream echoed off the mine walls. It took every drop of Arthur’s will to remain focused on his fight. If he wanted to make it out of here alive, he couldn’t afford to be distracted by thoughts of Merlin, even if it did sound as if his heart were being ripped out.

The force of the strike was enough to push his upper body past his center of gravity, and Arthur could do nothing to correct to problem, but it could have been a lot worse. His armour had done its job and deflected the blade. He would have a nasty bruise, but his skin was unbroken. He fell back, bumped his head on the ground. Under normal circumstances, he might not have even noticed, but considering he’d taken a hard blow the night before, the jostle was enough to daze him. Only his years of hard training kept him in the fight with his mind muddled.

Still on his back and reeling from the fall, Arthur drew up his leg and slammed his foot into the wraith’s shin. The creature fell toward him and he was able to get his sword up quickly enough to run the creature through. It let out a terrible roar, a strange wind came out of nowhere, and its body… disappeared, as though it had evaporated into the air.

Arthur rolled his head to the side with a smile, hoping for once to see Merlin looking impressed by his skill with a sword. Instead, he found the man scrambling toward him on hands and knees. Before Arthur could sit up, Merlin was ripping off his neckerchief, and pressing it to Arthur’s heart as if there were a gap in his hauberk that would allow access to a wound beneath. With his free hand, he stroked Arthur’s brow. It wasn’t sexual, but it was clearly affectionate, not the usual professional touches Arthur was used to from Merlin.

For a few moments, Arthur was content to simply enjoy the attention, then it sank in. Merlin was hallucinating, like that little boy with the toads at the well.  And Arthur knew just what Merlin thought he was seeing.

_One day I’m going to have to watch you die._

“This can’t be right,” Merlin said, half in tears. “There’s so much left for us to do.”

“Merlin.” Arthur tried to sit up, but Merlin held him in place.

“Rest now. Stay still.” And Merlin looked at him with such horrible sorrow that he couldn’t let this go on a moment longer.

“ _Merlin._ I’m not dying.” He grabbed the hand Merlin had pressed to his chest, stroked his thumb across Merlin’s skin because he couldn’t help himself.

As if he hadn’t even spoken, Merlin said, “It wasn’t supposed to be this way. I’ve failed you.”

“Don’t you know how to listen?” Arthur said, forcing a fair amount of annoyance into his words in the hopes that the tone would get Merlin’s attention. “I’m telling you I’m _fine_.”

“Wha—?” Merlin blinked, drew his eyebrows together.

“Well, a few bruises, and I think I broke my nose, but that’s the worst of it.” 

Merlin turned his palms up and looked at the spattered blood on his hands.

“That’s your blood, not mine. From your cough.”

Merlin looked him over. It finally seemed to be getting through.

“Trust me, Merlin. When have I ever lied to you?”

“I…”

“Let me sit up.” Arthur sprang to his feet as soon as Merlin gave him enough room, just to prove that he could, and returned his new sword to his belt.

“Come on. Can you walk? How’s your balance?”

Merlin tried to stand on his own, but wobbled like a newborn fawn. Arthur lifted Merlin’s arm over his shoulder, and helped the man stagger back out into the daylight, where he collapsed to the ground and rested his head back on the outer wall of the mine.

“Just need a minute to rest.”

Arthur crouched down to check his condition. “You’re trembling all over.”

“It’s all right.”

“ _Merlin_ ,” he said, tone sharp. “I need you to be honest with me. How do you feel?”

“Honestly?” Merlin looked up at him, face grim. “I feel awful. My chest aches, my head is pounding, and the earth feels like it’s tilting back and forth even while I sit. I don’t know if I can ride a horse right now. But this,” he held up his hand to show off the way it shook without his permission. “This is just nerves. I thought… Gods, Arthur, I thought that was it for a minute. I really did.” He put his head down on his knees, and Arthur thought he might be crying again.

Perhaps giving him something to do would help. “I need you to check my nose. Does it need to be set?”

Merlin’s head popped back up and Arthur sat the rest of the way down, scooted close so that Merlin didn’t have to move. He winced as Merlin prodded as his injury.

“You’re right. It is broken, but everything’s where it should be. I can heal the break now if you want.”

Arthur shook his head. “Save your strength for making that antidote. Now come on, you’ve had enough of a rest.”

“Just one more minute.”

Arthur was ready to argue, but Merlin offered him the red cloth that he still held clutched in his left hand.

“Clean yourself up first. You’ve got blood on your chin and umm, above your lip.”

Arthur shouldn’t have been surprised considering he could still taste the blood in his mouth. He doused the cloth with water from his waterskin and washed his face, then rinsed out the material and decided he should let it dry before returning it.

There were no more excuses after that. He helped haul Merlin into his saddle, took the reins of his horse and lead the animal behind his own the whole way back to the village.

Merlin tested a small batch of the remedy on himself first. When it proved effective, he gave a dose to Arthur and set about making a larger batch for the rest of the villagers. It was later, after they’d distributed the potion to everyone in need with the help of the remaining guardsmen and while they were on their way back to Ava’s for one last night of imposition before returning to Camelot, that Merlin confronted him.

“About what I said earlier…”

Arthur still wasn’t sure he was ready for this, but he didn’t object quickly enough.

“I truly am sorry I didn’t tell you sooner about being a dragonlord.” He paused, let out a slow breath. “I feel like all I’m ever doing is apologizing to you.”

“There’s an easy solution for that.”

Merlin let out a short hum, gave a wistful smile. “You took an instant liking to me when you were little.”

Arthur grimaced. He didn’t need another reminder of his age.

“You would always raise your arms up when you saw me, wanting to be held.”

“I don’t remember that,” Arthur said, though he could well believe it. The idea of Merlin holding him still sounded appealing, though undoubtedly the urge wasn’t the same as it had been back then.

“No, I don’t expect you do. This was before you could even walk. You were still a baby.”

“And did you pick me up when I asked?”

“Of course I did. You were impossible to ignore when you wanted attention. I would kiss your little cheeks and take you on walks around your nursey or my chambers. You would laugh and tug on my beard.” Merlin ran a hand over his chin as if trying to remember what it had felt like.

Not that he agreed, but maybe Arthur could see Merlin’s point just a little. It was no wonder he had trouble seeing Arthur as an adult when he had memories like that lingering around in his head. If Arthur had been a little less eager for his attention as a boy, maybe they’d be further along in their relationship today.

“You could be a real brat sometimes, but on the whole, you were a sweet little boy.”

Merlin paused in the middle of the empty road and Arthur turned back to see what had caught his attention. There was no one else about. Everyone was still either recovering or tending to those that were.

Merlin had his back to the setting sun and brilliant shades of red and orange coloured the sky behind him. From Arthur’s perspective, he looked like little more than a silhouette. Even still, he could feel Merlin’s gaze scrutinizing him in a way he’d never experienced before.

“Now look at you. Standing up against injustice, planning out the future of your kingdom, saving an entire village… giving me advice. When did all that start happening?”

Arthur wasn’t foolish enough to think any of this meant that Merlin thought he was mature enough for them to be together, but it was a good start.

“Why’d you stop giving me that sort of attention when I was little?” Arthur said. He couldn’t imagine that he’d voluntarily stopped asking.

Merlin hesitated, and Arthur could tell he was considering another of his lies or omissions, could see him thinking through what Arthur had said about an easy solution.

“I’d always known that you had a great destiny ahead of you, but it took a while for me to… Well, one day I realized I knew something I shouldn’t, and suddenly it didn’t seem appropriate to be so physical with you.”

“You knew I was going to fall in love with you.”

“I was… reasonably confident. You have to believe that I had no idea it would happen as soon as it did.”

Arthur didn’t know what to say, so he simply nodded.

“You didn’t like it when I tried to put more distance between us. We had to compromise. That’s when I started telling you those stories.”

“You were distracting me.”

“I was redirecting your attention. You really have no room to complain. You loved those stories.”

Arthur didn’t even try to argue. He knew it was true. Those were some of his earliest and most well-loved childhood memories.

“They weren’t all about me, you know. I’d decided that it would be better for you to come to know me when you were older, but once and a while, I couldn’t resist. And apart from the stories, as you got older, there always seemed to be a good reason to share more. I was just so eager for you to know me.”

Arthur forgot to breath for a moment.

“It wasn’t until you first confessed that you loved me that I realized how badly I’d messed up. I tried even harder to hold back when I could, thinking I was making things easier for you. I should have realized it was too late for that. You already knew so much. I mean it. All the most important things, at least when it comes to me.”

“I don’t understand why you’re telling me all this.” They’d arrived back at their temporary lodgings and Arthur stopped outside the door while he fumbled for the right phrasing. “You… don’t want me to love you?”

Merlin shook his head. “I don’t want you to feel unwanted or hurt. I want you to be happy.” Merlin ran a hand through his hair. “You don’t press the issue like you used to, but I’m not blind, Arthur, and I’m not an idiot. I see what you’re feeling and I know it’s my fault. It breaks my heart.”

“Stop.” Arthur put his hands on Merlin’s shoulders. “You are not responsible for my feelings. No one is but me and I wouldn’t trade them for anything.”

“I know I’ve said it before, but I really do love you.”

“I know you do, Merlin.” Arthur dropped his hands before he made the mistake of leaning in for a kiss. “I’m sorry I called you a useless idiot earlier.”

Merlin chuckled. “I think I might deserve it sometimes.”

“Well,” Arthur said with a grin, “maybe the idiot part.”

“Hey!”

Arthur tossed his head back and laughed.

“You’re a real prat sometimes, you know that?”

Arthur couldn’t stop grinning for hours. He hadn’t felt this good in a long time.

The next morning, as they packed for the return journey to Camelot, Arthur caught sight of Merlin’s neckerchief amongst his things. Since it was finally dry, he offered it back to its owner, expecting the man to take it and tie it in its usual place at his neck.

Merlin waved it away. “I have a spare.” His cheeks looked surprisingly pink and he averted his gaze as if embarrassed.

If a knight or lord gave a kerchief to a lady, gave her a flower, or a letter implying that they would find each other in the next life should the unfortunate take place, Arthur would have said the man was trying to woo her. Their situation was different of course, but Arthur felt charmed none the less, and so, when he returned home that evening, it was with two treasures—a new sword at his hip and a square of cloth tucked into his saddlebags.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a little early, but happy birthday to Caro1dlr! Hope you like the chapter.


	11. Hands and Knees

Despite his gloves, after only a few days of working with his new sword, Arthur’s palms started to develop blisters. He ignored them and kept training as usual. They ached with the slightest pressure and some filled with blood, but it seemed silly to waste Merlin’s time with them. Another few days and they’d heal up on their own.

To help in the meantime, Arthur took the cloth Merlin had given him after his fight with the wraith and neatly wound it around the hilt of his sword to add a bit of cushioning. It looked nice there. Even after his hands healed, he thought he might leave the fabric in place. He didn’t think Merlin would mind him using it in this way. It wasn’t as if he were wearing it around his arm like a favour.

The wrapping helped but didn’t stop the inevitable. By the end of the week, the blisters started to break open, leaking blood and worse. His palms were spotted with bright red and hot to the touch. When Sir Kay noticed him wincing, he dragged Arthur to Merlin’s chambers himself.

Merlin wasn’t in when they arrived, but Kay made him promise to stay until his hands had been seen to, then left to track the physician down himself.

Arthur sat on Merlin’s bench with the table at his back to wait, began the tedious job of stripping off his armour since the knights’ training session would be over by the time he was done here. A short while after he finished with the armour, Merlin came rushing in the door. Kay had clearly overstated the urgency of the matter.

Arthur held up his hands. “No need to fret. It’s just some blisters.”

The tension in Merlin’s posture melted away, and he rolled his eyes, brought over a bowl of fresh water and his medical bag. He pulled up a low stool and put a bucket on the floor between them. Arthur made use of the arrangement to study Merlin’s features.

These days he looked so young—maybe only a decade older than Arthur—that it was hard to believe his true age, hard sometimes to even remember what he’d looked like as an old man.

“You have to take better care of yourself, Arthur.”

“Swordsmen get blisters all the time. It’s nothing.”

“They’re not ‘nothing.’ Look here. See how red this is? That’s sickness. It’s infected.” Merlin reached up to put a hand on Arthur’s forehead. “An infection like this can spread. You’re lucky you don’t have a fever.”

Merlin manhandled him, taking care of each hand one at a time. He poured the clear water across his palms, allowing the excess to fall into the bucket on the floor, used a specially shaped hand lens about the size of his fist to examine the wounds in fine detail.

“How did you get so much dirt ground into these?” Merlin eyed the grip of Arthur’s sword, didn’t comment.

Some of the blisters that weren’t broken, he left intact, others he drained with a needle. Arthur wasn’t sure how he decided which ones should receive which treatment. “Why didn’t you come see me sooner? If you’d told me before Sir Kay noticed, I could have healed these for you. Now you’re going to have to do the healing yourself.”

“I don’t mind. Your magic is meant for far more important things.”

“Arthur, that’s… In all my life, no one has ever…”

Arthur scrutinized Merlin’s expression. There was a warmth and softness there that Arthur had never seen before, and every last bit of it was directed straight at him. It made him want to pull Merlin close, never let go.

“I mean to say, thank you for that.”

Arthur had only said what came to mind. He hadn’t realized it would mean so much to him. Thinking on it now, it made sense. Merlin had to keep an important part of himself hidden or risk execution, and he never received full credit for all that he did.  A pleasant warmth spread through Arthur’s chest. He hoped he would always have the ability to make Merlin feel appreciated.

“It’s true.”

“Maybe, but I’ll always heal your wounds when I can. No matter how small. I hate leaving you in pain.”

“I’m not hurting now, Merlin.” And he meant it. It might be his imagination, but his hands felt better already, and his heart… How could he possibly feel down when Merlin was looking at him like that?

Merlin abruptly returned to his work, smearing a pungent, but not unpleasant smelling poultice over his palms, and wrapping each hand in bandages.

“You will do nothing to upset these until the infection is completely gone.”

Arthur grunted an assent.

“That means no sword work.”

“What? Merlin, I—”

“And no mace, no lance, no battle axe—”

“When have you ever seen me use an axe?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I can’t just skip training because I have tender hands. I’m meant to lead!”

“Well, practice your horse work or those silly looking foot drills you knight types like so much.”

“ _Merlin._ ”

_“Arthur!”_ Merlin looked up at him, wide eyes pleading.

Arthur sighed in defeat. “Fine.”

After a short silence, Merlin said, “I don’t even understand. You’ve been training with a sword most of your life. Why suddenly the problem? Is it that wrapping you have—”

“That’s not it,” Arthur said quickly, afraid Merlin was going to try to take the cloth back. “It’s the sword itself, the one you… had enhanced for me. I don’t mean to say there’s anything wrong with it. It’s just new. And heavier than my old one. I’m trying to get used to it. I don’t want anyone to get hurt because I have an unfamiliar weapon.”

Merlin finished the bandages but held on to his hand. “I’ve seen you out on the training grounds. You’ve been working harder than ever since we got back from the Ridge of Kemeray.”

Since when had Merlin watched him train? He felt suddenly hot, was glad he’d went to the trouble of removing his armour.  

There was a pause. Then, slowly, Merlin leaned down and pressed his lips to the base of Arthur’s left hand, above the bandages and just below his wrist, before repeating the gesture on the other hand. Arthur’s skin tingled, but not from the poultice. There were only a few times that Merlin had touched him for a reason that wasn’t purely utilitarian since he was a child. Arthur could name every single one. He’d certainly never kissed him before in his remembering. Not once.

“Not long now,” Merlin said, his voice a near whisper, his eyes still trained on Arthur’s palms.

Arthur frowned. Was he referring to his recovery? Or… something else.

Merlin moved his hands up past Arthur’s wrists, onto his forearms. Arthur pulled one hand away and used his fingertips to tilt Merlin’s chin up. They locked eyes and Arthur was more certain than ever. Whatever this bond was he felt between them, Merlin felt it too.

“Merlin?”

“Hmm?”

“This…”

Merlin’s thumb dug pleasantly into sore muscles.

“ _This_. It’s not dissipating as I get older.”

“I know.”

“It’s growing stronger.”

“I know.”

Arthur’s heart raced. Was that permission? He wanted to lean forward, kiss Merlin on the lips like he’d been daydreaming about for years, but he was frozen in place. He couldn’t believe it. It was finally happening and… and Arthur was ruining it! He needed to do something. Merlin wasn’t just going to sit there looking at him like that forever, but God, he was just so nervous!

A knock came at the door, and Merlin pulled away.

Sir Leon popped his head inside. “Sire, the king wishes to speak with you.”

Arthur stood and hesitated a moment. He looked down at Merlin, then back to where Leon still waited on him.

“Well go on then. Mustn’t keep your father waiting. I’ll see you later.”

Arthur nodded, gave Merlin his best attempt at a smile, then went to see what his father wanted.

He felt sure he’d missed an opportunity and spent the rest of the day chastising himself, but by the next morning, he realized that it was probably for the best because if Merlin had wanted a kiss, he knew very well that he could have had one. All he had to do was say the word and Arthur would gladly accommodate him, but he hadn’t said, “kiss me,” he’d said, “not long.”

Arthur tried to keep his hopes realistic because “not long” for a 100-year-old sorcerer might be a lot different than “not long” for a 19-year-old prince who was used to getting what he wanted when he wanted it in all but one aspect of his life, but at least it felt like they were finally headed in the right direction.

A few days later, he had some spare time and stopped by to see Merlin like he’d done so often when he was younger. Not for any particular reason, just because he liked it better when they were together than when they were apart.

Things got easier after that. They would talk in the evening when they were both free, sometimes for hours, and he started inviting Merlin to the tavern when he went with Gwaine and Percival. He fit in so well with Arthur’s friends that no one even questioned his presence.

-x-x-

On Arthur’s 20th birthday, he was officially named Crown Prince of Camelot and a large banquet was held to celebrate. Arthur lingered around, soaking in the atmosphere even after the majority of guests had left. It felt like he had too little to celebrate lately and Merlin had been there looking self-satisfied and happy. His huge grin probably had just as much to do with all the wine he’d been drinking as it did with Arthur’s new title, but Arthur didn’t mind. He’d had a bit too much to drink as well and was glad that he’d sent George ahead to ready his chambers. His dull manservant would paste on his usual mask of politely veiled disapproval if he saw the slight unsteadiness to Arthur’s walk, and Arthur wasn’t in the mood to deal with it.

He was nearly back to his chambers and looking forward to his warm bed, when Merlin called for him to wait.

He knew they were both drunk by the way their smiles fed into each other’s. They’d practiced this exchange a few times before when Merlin came to the tavern with him. Merlin was usually careful about how much he drank, but every once and a while he would have a little too much. It was easy to do. Merlin didn’t have a high tolerance. And when he did over-indulge… Sometimes he would stare into Arthur’s eyes for longer than would generally be considered appropriate. Sometimes he would casually touch Arthur, just for a brief moment, and nothing that any other friend wouldn’t do, but when he caught himself, he would apologize, start drinking the tasteless grog that was more water than ale instead.

When Merlin caught up, he lurched to a stop, stumbled into Arthur, and had to put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder to steady himself for a moment. Arthur instinctively put his hands out to help, one finding its way to Merlin’s waist, the other to his upper arm. Merlin’s hot breath ghosted across Arthur’s ear as he righted himself, then he dropped to one knee.

“What are you doing, Merlin?” He was rather proud that his words were only a touch slower than normal, no slurring at all. Well… maybe just a little.

“Arthur.” He looked up a moment, said, “Today was a big day for you,” then put his head back down. “And I just… I made a promise to you years ago. Wanted to make sure you knew that I still mean it. I’m yours. Through and through.”

As much as he liked hearing those words, it felt a little weird too. “Get up, Merlin. You don’t have to bow to me or kneel before me. I don’t want any of that from you. I get it enough from everyone else.”

Merlin cocked his head to the side, looking back up at him with a massive grin and a hint of mischief sparkling in his eyes. “And here I always thought you liked the idea of me on my knees.” His eyes bulged as he realized what he’d just said. He slapped his hands across his mouth only to drop them moments later so he could say, “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean that. That was completely inappropriate.”

Arthur reached down to help haul Merlin to his feet, giving himself a moment to gather his wits back up from where they’d spilled out of his head and onto the floor. Merlin… Merlin of all people had just teased him about sex. He might have instantly regretted it, but that seemed to only be because he thought Arthur might take offense or that it might hurt his feelings considering how many times he’d declined Arthur’s advances. But he clearly hadn’t meant it in a mean-spirited way. It had come out more suggestive than malicious and that made Arthur’s grin spread even wider. He was going to have sore cheeks in addition to a headache in the morning.

Merlin was still apologizing.

“It’s all right, Merlin. Calm down.” He loved that Merlin was growing comfortable enough around him to make comments like that. Even if it took a little alcohol to get him there, it was still progress. Maybe in a few more months… “Now,” he spun the man back around toward his chambers. “You should be off to bed. Can you make it on your own?” He hoped it didn’t look like he was leering; he felt like maybe he was leering.

“I’ll be fine.”

“I could escort you…” He could show Merlin just how much he liked the idea of him on his knees in a different context.

“You’re worse off than I am.” And with that, he stumbled off down the corridor, looking back not once, but twice to wave and say, “Goodnight, Arthur,” and then, “Sleep well.”

Arthur waited until he was out of view to turn back toward his own chambers. He would dismiss George as soon as possible. Merlin had put a vivid thought into his head and he wanted to make good use of it before a night of sleep dulled the memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the extra wait on this update. Wish I had a longer chapter this time to make up for it, but hopefully you like it all the same.


	12. A Sister In Need

Morgana staggered into his chambers with dark circles under her eyes and her hair in disarray. She held her hands clamped in front of her, knuckles tight.

Arthur dropped the report he’d been reading and stood. “What’s wrong?”

It took a full minute for her to compose herself.

“I… I caught fire to my bed curtains this morning.”

Arthur sat back down, laughing. “That’s all?” The crisis was clearly over. She wouldn’t be here if her rooms were actively burning, and she didn’t look physically injured. He’d thought someone had died with the way she was acting. “How did Father take it? Have you told him yet?”

Morgana shook her head.

“He’s going to want a good explanation.”

“Yes, that’s why I’m terrified.”

“Oh, come now. If you confess to knocking over a candle, or whatever it was that you did, and give him that wretched pleading look you’re so good at, he’ll forgive you no matter how stupid your accident was.”

“I didn’t knock over a candle.” She gave him a withering glare, as though galled by the mere suggestion that she could be so careless.

“All right then. How did you manage it?”

“It was early, and Gwen hadn’t been in yet. I was cold. I wanted a blazing fire.” She dropped to a whisper. “I didn’t mean to… It was just an idle thought.”

Arthur scoffed. He’d seen Merlin light fires with nothing but a thought, but that was... His eyes went wide. Morgana noticed.

“You think it’s magic too!” She kept her volume low, but her inflections made her sound crazed.

Arthur wasn’t sure how to respond. All he managed was, “Calm down, Morgana. It’s going to be fine.”

“How?” It would have been a shriek if only she were louder. “Uther’s going to chop my head off—or burn me at the stake—when he finds out.”

“He won’t. Nothing bad is going to happen to you. You can tell him it was an accident, and he won’t think twice about it. Seriously, Morgana.” He affected a high-pitched voice, “‘I’m so clumsy. I knocked over a candle. Sorry Father.’ It’s that easy.”

“So I’m supposed to hide? To lie?”

Arthur frowned. Merlin hid. He didn’t like that it was necessary. When he became king, he would change things.

“It’s not like I want this. People say those that use magic lose their soul, that they’re evil. I’m not… I don’t want to become…”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, Morgana. You’re not going to lose your soul or turn evil. Magic doesn’t work that way. It can’t corrupt you.”

“Know a lot of sorcerers, do you?”

“I—” Arthur snapped his mouth shut with an audible click.

“That’s what I thought.” She paused. “What if it happens again? At dinner or during court? What will I do then? There would be no denying it!”

“Then maybe you should learn to control it.”

“Impossible. Even if magic won’t corrupt my soul, Uther’s killed everyone that could help me.”

“Not everyone.”

Morgana stopped pacing and swirled to bore into him with her eyes. “How do you know that?”

“Well...” Arthur sputtered. He couldn’t just let Merlin’s secret slip, even if Morgana had magic too. “There’s the druids after all.”

For the first time since she’d entered the room, a look that wasn’t based in fear crossed her features.

“Do you… think they would help me? Even though I’m the adopted daughter of the man who slaughtered so many of their kin?”

Arthur had no idea if the druids would help but if he talked to Merlin about this, there would surely be something they could do for her.

He wished he could just tell her to confide in Merlin directly, but then she would pry, and he wasn’t sure he would be able to convince her that Merlin was trustworthy without divulging his secret.

He said, “Maybe. Let me check around, see if any of the patrols have run across any signs of druid camps.”

Morgana gave him a tentative smile.

This mess with the fire would turn out to be good in a way. Arthur had been able to do nothing but watch as Morgana struggled more and more each passing year with nightmares and exhaustion. Today’s revelation explained a lot. Now that he knew what was really going on, he could get this worked out for her in short order. She’d finally be able to feel herself again.

He ushered Morgana out of his chambers after extracting a promise from her that she’d go back to bed and rest. She only agreed after he offered to tell Uther about the fire himself. It wasn’t a big deal. Uther even laughed when Arthur related the story, saying Morgana was too embarrassed by her clumsiness to admit to it herself.

“You’re a good brother to her, Arthur. I knew I made the right decision when I made her a Pendragon.”

Arthur left through the side exit and took the shortcut down to the stables, his step a fraction lighter, his mood buoyed by his father’s praise.

“Lovely weather for a ride this morning, Your Highness,” Lancelot said when Arthur entered the stables.

Arthur was too preoccupied to give much of a response. He was scanning the area for Merlin. He didn’t relish the idea of a long wait. That was why he’d sent George off with a note for Merlin and instructions for the stable hands before he’d left his chambers to discuss Morgana’s mishap with his father.

“Horses are saddled and ready to go.”

Arthur stepped around to brush a hand down his gelding’s neck.

“Arthur,” Merlin said from behind, sounding out of breath.

Arthur turned, and Merlin held up the note in two fingers. It had been a simple enough message.

          Meet me at the stables. Don’t delay.  
          Arthur

Arthur nodded to the other horse. “Have time for a short ride?”

Merlin agreed without asking for the reasoning for the sudden request, saving Arthur the exercise of coming up with an excuse that would keep up appearances in front of Lancelot.

They rode through the lower town and out the east gate. People noticed of course—people noticed Arthur wherever he went—but they didn’t pay any particular attention to the fact that Merlin was along with him. Everyone knew they were friends by now. It was impossible to hide when Merlin routinely joined him for a round of drinks or a game of dice at the Rising Sun.

A few weeks ago, Arthur’s father had noticed them walking side by side for the length of the courtyard discussing matters clearly irrelevant to the health of the kingdom, because talk of diseases and injuries hardly warrants laughter. He’d pulled Arthur aside to warn him against getting too friendly with people of common birth, but had grudgingly conceded that Merlin could be relied upon as a trustworthy source of advice, particularly when it came to problems of the magical variety. Uther had even gone so far as to call Merlin an ally in the fight against magic. Arthur’d had no trouble responding with a grim nod. Perhaps for the first time ever, he’d felt grateful that Merlin could be a masterful liar when he needed to be.

Arthur led them away from the castle, then picked a random spot to stop and dismount. They were close enough to town to be reasonably safe from bandits, but not so close that they might run into random peasants or soldiers on patrol.

Arthur mulled over what he wanted to say. This was a delicate topic after all.

“This is a pretty spot, Arthur,” Merlin said.

“Huh?”

Merlin gestured to the small brook babbling away to their right. A beam of sunlight streamed through a gap in the canopy to highlight a pair of blue and black butterflies flittering around above the surface of the water.

“Oh. Suppose it is.”

Merlin looked like he had something more to say. He looked like that a lot lately. Just a few nights ago, they’d been sitting in front of the fire in his chambers chattering on about nothing of importance when Merlin had gone quiet. It wasn’t that he’d stopped paying attention. More that he was paying too much attention. Watching every twitch of Arthur’s fingers, ever idle scratch, every shift in his chair. Watching as if Arthur were the one insisting that they wait. But Arthur had been practicing his patience for several years now and he was getting good at waiting.

Any day now, Merlin was going to break, and he’d be saying, “Let me take you to bed, Arthur.” Or maybe he’d just press their lips together without preamble, too fed up with putting it off to waste another second on talk.

“You don’t have to explain, Arthur. I think I know why you brought me here.”

“You do?”

“This time of day, George is cleaning your chambers. You could tell him to leave but servants like to talk, and it might raise suspicions. Lady Ragnell has been laid up in my chambers since her fall yesterday. Neither place is good for a private meeting at the moment.”

“Well that’s a relief! She didn’t actually give me permission to ask you for help but since you already know...”

Something shifted in Merlin’s expression.

“Did you hear about the fire already?”

“Fire?”

“She came to my chambers in a panic. You weren’t afraid like that when you learned you had magic, were you?”

“Ah, so this is _that_ conversation.”

Arthur spared half a second to wonder what Merlin had been thinking this was about.

“And no. I was never afraid. I could work magic since before I can remember. And even if that weren’t true, things were different when I grew up. People didn’t fear magic like they do now.”

“You need to help her. Tell her about your magic. Show her how to use hers.”

“I can’t do that, Arthur.”

“What?” Arthur took a step closer. “Why not?”

“Morgana has the potential to be very powerful. Not everyone can handle that. I… I fear she may betray you.”

Before Arthur could get the first word out to argue, Merlin said, “I know that doesn’t sound like the Morgana that we know, but you haven’t seen what I have.”

“This another of your visions from the Crystal Cave?”

Ignoring his own council, Merlin seemed determined to assume the worst of everything he’d seen in those crystals. Arthur was beginning to question whether they had any value at all or if what little information they provided was more akin to a curse.

“Yes, but that wasn’t my full meaning. You don’t know the way power can change a person.”

“You’re such a hypocrite, Merlin. You think you’re the only person in the world that can handle powerful magic?  I told Morgana this morning that magic can’t corrupt her. You taught me that.”

“And that’s true. Magic itself can’t. But power of any sort can be seductive. I don’t want her to lose herself.”  

“All the more reason we need to help her! She’d have no reason to betray us if we’re the ones that accept and protect her.” He could see this line of reasoning wasn’t working to convince Merlin. He tried a different approach. “Listen, I know things were a mess during the war—”

“You have no idea.” Merlin shook his head. “The stories you’ve heard—from me and your father, from Geoffrey—they barely scratch the surface.”

“Then tell me. Help me understand.”

“It was… bad. I don’t even like to remember it, let alone talk about it.”

Arthur threw up his hands. “Are you really this stubborn or are you just plain stupid? I’ve been telling you for years that I can help you with these things, if only you’d let me.”

“It was…” Merlin lowered himself to the ground as if it were too much effort to talk about the war and stand at the same time.

Arthur plopped down in front of him and waited. It had rained the day before and the damp from the ground seeped through the seat of his trousers.

“No one had control over any significant area. Bandits were everywhere. Men and women mad on power, some with magic, some without, tried to set themselves up as kings and queens.”

This wasn’t anything Arthur hadn’t heard before. It sounded suspiciously like the beginning of Geoffrey’s lecture on the topic, though in his version, those with magic were the root of all the trouble. Arthur was half-tempted to fake a yawn, but had enough self-awareness to refrain.

“The scale of destruction was like nothing you can imagine. Acres of crops turned to dust overnight. The warlords took what little remained for themselves, leaving the peasants to starve. I traveled around trying to help where I could. The things I saw… We’d be here for weeks if you really wanted to hear all of it.

“There was one incident… I’d been traveling through an area that’s now part of Essetir when I came upon a village that was under attack. Every building was on fire and in the middle of it all, a group of villagers were trapped in a rapidly shrinking ring of flames. It was magic, of course, and I tried, but I was too late to help them. There were women and children. I watched them…”

Arthur took Merlin’s nearest hand in his own, was relieved when he didn’t pull back, but instead, squeezed Arthur’s hand tight.

“If I let myself think on it, I can still hear their screams, can still smell the stench of burning hair and flesh. And one of the men responsible laughing, saying how the smell made his mouth water.”

Merlin shook his head as if trying to clear the memories.

“I killed one of them.”

Arthur noticed an inexplicable note of guilt in his tone. “You stopped him from hurting countless others.”  

“I know, but he’d been my friend, Arthur. Just an ordinary man from a small village like my own. When he first learned magic, he used it to help the crops grow and keep his family warm through the winter. Then one day, bandits raided his village. His entire family was killed. He realized he could use his power to make those that had wronged him pay for their crimes. And he just… never stopped. He liked how he didn’t feel weak anymore.

“He joined forces with a sorcerer named Sigan. They wanted the whole world to bow at their feet. It wasn’t the magic. He’d have done the same if he’d been given authority over an army or if he’d discovered a hidden talent for the sword. That was when I decided to go to Camelot and throw my lot in with your father. He was the only one fighting back against those abusing their power like that.

“Tragedy can turn anyone bitter. It happens to those with magic no more or less often than it happens to those without.”

“Morgana won’t be like that.”

“That’s what happened to your father.”

“You’re talking about when my mother died.”

Merlin nodded. “Magic is meant to be used to help people; that’s its purpose. When people abuse it like they did during the war, it makes me sick. And when I think about the way magic has been used to hurt you…”

“What do you mean?”

“I know… you hate secrets,” Merlin said, suddenly stumbling over his words. “But I don’t… don’t know if I should be telling you this.”

Arthur still had Merlin’s hand, and he swept his thumb in what he hoped were reassuring little arcs.

“Arthur, I’m so sorry.” Merlin practically choked trying to get the words out. He looked down at the ground as he said, “It was magic that was responsible for your mother’s death.”

Oh, that wasn’t so bad as he’d been expecting. “I know.”

“What?” Merlin’s head popped back up. “You _know?”_

“You told me a long time ago that I was conceived with the help of magic. And when we were at the Crystal Cave you said there always has to be a balance. That’s why you’d planned to sacrifice your life for mine after I was wounded by the questing beast. Anyone who’s not a complete simpleton could have worked it out eventually.”

It wasn’t quite so easy as he was making it out to be. It had taken him years to come to that conclusion, and even then, he hadn’t been completely sure until just now.

“And you’re not angry?”

“Of course I am. But it’s not as if it were malicious. If my parents decided—”

“Ah.”

“What?”

“Nevermind. Nothing.” Merlin plucked at the sparse blades of grass near his feet.

“It’s something.”

“You don’t want to know, Arthur. _I_ don’t want to know.”

“Tell me.” Clearly it was something terrible. Arthur reached for the worst thing he could think of. “The sorcerer that helped my parents, was it you? You feel responsible and fear I’ll blame you for what happened?”

Merlin shook his head. “Your father asked me to help, but I refused. Told him it was too dangerous. He got Nimueh to cast the spell instead.”

“I can’t believe you’re keeping another secret from me. I thought we were past all that.”

Merlin was having a difficult time keeping his composure, and Arthur had pity on him. “Fine. Keep your secret, but at least tell me why I can’t know. I think I deserve that much.”

Merlin’s expression crumpled.

“ _Merlin_ …”

Merlin closed his eyes as if he couldn’t bear to see Arthur’s reaction. “I don’t want you to hate your father.”

Arthur went still. It felt as if he’d broken through the ice on a midwinter pond. The shock of it pulled his breath away.

“He knew it would kill her,” he said when he could finally speak, understanding sinking in. “He _knew?_ And he did it anyway?”

“No one could have known the exact outcome, and Uther adored your mother. But he didn’t even discuss it with her. Didn’t ask if she was willing to risk it. He knew it was dangerous. I explained everything when he asked for my help. He just… refused to listen. He thought he knew better.”

“He killed her with his arrogance then. That’s why he hates magic so much. As long as he can blame magic and sorcery, he doesn’t have to confront his own guilt.”

“Yes.”

Arthur stood suddenly. “How could you still want me to love a man like that?”

He didn’t wait for a response. He strode back to his horse, eyes burning, heart racing, his vision clouded by thoughts of the kind, sweet, gentle woman that Merlin had always described his mother to be, walking around with Arthur growing inside her like a tumor as Uther looked on, unconcerned, happy even, as his human sacrifice headed unknowingly toward her doom.

Merlin scrambled up after him, reached for his arm. Arthur shoved the man back, ignoring the way he staggered to remain upright. Arthur didn’t want to be soothed. He wanted to rage.

“What are you planning to do with that sword?”

Arthur glanced down at this hand and was surprised to find he was holding his weapon. He couldn’t even remember drawing it. There wasn’t much he could do with it out here, but he paused to inspect the blade anyway, turned the handle so the edge caught the light. This sword of his, forged as it was in the dragon’s breath, would be a fitting tool to finally deliver justice to his mother and the countless victims of his father’s cruel laws.

“You’re the one always saying how I’ll make a great king. What are we waiting for? I could be crowned tomorrow.”

“Murder is no way to start your reign, Arthur, no matter what he’s done. He’s the only parent you’ll ever know. You’d never forgive yourself.”

 _Murder._ The word gave him pause. Was he honestly considering harming his own father? His king? But then, the man he’d always thought of as his father didn’t even exist. He’d long known that Uther took the wrong view on magic, but at least he’d had the comfort of believing that Uther honestly thought he was doing the right thing, that he was merely misguided. That man had been replaced in Arthur’s mind with a stranger—depraved and malicious.

“The knight’s code allows for challenges when an injustice has been done. Uncle Tristian had the right idea. It wouldn’t be murder.”

Merlin grabbed hold of his forearm. “I know you’re angry and hurting right now, and you have every right to be, but listen to me. You’re not thinking clearly.”

Arthur scoffed, pulled his arm away.

“Arthur!”

He untied his horse’s reins from the low branch he’d used as a hitching post and lifted his foot to slide it into the stirrup. Merlin’s arms tugged at him again, wrapping around his waist and chest from behind in a hold that was more restraint than embrace, and Arthur’s foot dropped awkwardly to the ground. When Merlin was satisfied that Arthur wasn’t going to fight his way out of the hold, Merlin relaxed his grip, pressed his temple to the back of Arthur’s head, and splayed his hands against Arthur’s torso in a way that would have been incredibly pleasant under other circumstances.

“Your father… I’m not going to try telling you he’s not deeply flawed. Or even that he’s worthy of all the love you’ve given him. You deserve so much better. You deserve a father that isn’t afraid to tell you how much he loves you, how proud he is to have you for a son.”

Merlin moved around to stand in front of him, never taking his hands off Arthur’s body, as if he thought Arthur might disappear if he lost contact.

“I shouldn’t be the only one telling you that you’re courageous and true-hearted. That you’re strong when you need to be and compassionate when it’s called for. That you’re humble enough to ask for advice when you need it and smart enough to know wisdom when you hear it. That when you truly want something, you go after it with a tenacious dedication the likes of which I’ve never seen before.”

The words were slow to sink in. He’d never expected to hear so much praise from Merlin. He was sure he didn’t deserve even half of it on his best days, let alone now, when he felt nothing but anger and darkness, but the words felt motivational. Like maybe if he worked hard enough, he could be the man Merlin saw in him.

Merlin gripped his head tight, palms against his temples, fingers spread wide, forcing Arthur to acknowledge him.

“Arthur, you inspire those around you to be better than they ever thought possible.”

“You really believe all that?”

Merlin sagged, said, “Of course I do,” then pulled Arthur close for a genuine hug. “You think I’d love just any random prat that stumbles into my life?”

Arthur let out a short, choked laugh, and his sword fell to the soft ground with a dull thump. He brought his hands up to Merlin’s back to return the hug. For once, he wasn’t angry that Merlin had kept this from him. Part of him wished he was still ignorant of the truth.

“My father’s a monster.”

“No. Uther’s caused a great deal of pain and suffering, but he’s not evil. He’s just a man stretched past his breaking point. He does what he believes is best for the kingdom. And he does love you, no matter how bad he is at showing it.

“I pity him. It was his decision that led to the death of the person he cherished most. He has to live with that every day for the rest of his life. Sometimes I wonder what that would feel like. I wonder how he can bear it at all. I wish you could have known the man he was before.”

“I don’t know if I can forgive him,” Arthur mumbled into Merlin’s shoulder. He was trembling, on the verge of tears. This wasn’t helping his image as a fully-grown adult, but it felt nice to be held like this and right now, that was more important.

“Maybe you should avoid him for a while, but when you’re ready, ask him how much he loved her. I think you’ll be satisfied with the answer.”

They stayed that way for some time, Arthur with his head bowed to rest on Merlin’s shoulder, while Merlin gave him a series of long, firm but gentle squeezes, pausing to adjust the position of his hands between each one.

When he finally felt he had himself back under control, Arthur pulled away, cleared his throat, and said, “We still need to finish talking about Morgana.”

“I’ve been working to delay this moment for years.”

What Arthur should have noticed earlier was now painfully obvious. Merlin had known about Morgana for a long time and hadn’t shared that knowledge. He wanted to be upset about this too, but supposed it hadn’t been Merlin’s secret to tell and found he felt too exhausted to be angry on Morgana’s behalf.

“Well, it’s here now, whether you like it or not. You’re not going to be able to convince her it was a nightmare or a hallucination. She knows she has magic. There’s nothing for it now but to teach her to control it.”

“If Morgana were to betray you because of something I did, I’d never forgive myself.”

“So your plan is what? To do nothing instead? How do you know it’s not failing to help her that causes this supposed betrayal? What do you think will happen when she finds out you could have helped her all along? I’m sure she’s going to take that news _really well._ If you refuse to help yourself, at least tell me where I can find some druids. That group you warned off a few years ago might be willing to aid us if I explain the situation.”

If Merlin knew anything about the druid’s whereabouts, he wasn’t saying.

“ _Please_ , Merlin. She’s my sister. I’ve always thought of her that way, even before Father made the declaration. Right now, she’s terrified. She doesn’t understand what’s happening to her or why. And I can’t explain to her how I know that magic isn’t evil without betraying your secret. I can’t just stand by and watch her suffer. If some day she does betray me, then at least my conscience will be clear. If you can’t do it for her, then do it for me.”

Arthur collected his sword and returned to the castle on his own. He took a roundabout path to Morgana’s rooms to see if she’d managed to calm down. He didn’t trust himself to run into his father at the moment.

He tapped on the door lightly in case she’d managed to fall asleep. Her answer was immediate. “Who’s there?”

He sighed. No luck with sleep then.

“It’s me, Morgana.”

There was a long pause and he was about to knock again—louder this time, obnoxious—but then there was a clank as Morgana unbolted her lock and opened the door a sliver. She looked past him, out into the corridor, making sure he was alone, then stepped back and let him in, turning the key in the door behind her.

She looked every bit as bad as she had when she’d come into his room earlier with a heavy blanket over her shoulders and her hair still not brushed.

“Why are you locking yourself in?”

“In case it happens again. I don’t want anyone walking in and seeing… that.”

A quick assessment of the room showed that Morgana had her traveling cloak and a half-packed bag already sitting out.

“Have you found anything about the druids yet?”

He shook his head. “I’m still working on it.”

She slumped into a chair next to her cold fireplace and Arthur took a seat across from her. They sat in silence for several long minutes while Morgana picked at a loose thread on her blanket and Arthur tried to ignore the way the residual smoke in the air irritated his nose.

Finally he said, “I spoke with father. He’s not the least bit suspicious.”

“For now.”

Another knock came at the door and Morgana looked to him. “Send whoever it is away, please? I already sent Gwen home for the day, and I can’t tolerate any more company.”

When Arthur cracked the door the same way Morgana had, and found Merlin fidgeting on the other side, he said, “What do you want?” then more hopefully, “Change your mind?”

“Not exactly.” Merlin leaned to the side a little, trying to peer around Arthur. He settled back when Arthur refused to move. He said, “I’m still not convinced this is the best course of action, but you know Morgana better than I do, so I’m deferring to your judgement.”

Arthur nodded—that would have to be good enough—and stepped aside to let Merlin in, relocking the door behind him. He knew Morgana wasn’t going to be happy and sure enough, her face contorted into an unattractive grimace. He stood shoulder to shoulder with Merlin hoping Morgana would see them as a unit and that Merlin wouldn’t have to take all her ire on his own.

“I said no more visitors, Arthur.” She was trying to sound stern but her fatigue made it come out petulant instead.

“It’s all right, Morgana. Merlin’s here to help.”

“My lady,” Merlin said. “I heard there was a fire. I wanted to check you were all right. I thought you might need a little help getting back to sleep after such a scare.”

“I don’t need another of your potions, Merlin. They don’t help anymore.” Morgana drew her blanket tighter around her shoulders, shrank back into her chair as if seeking shelter.

“It’s not a potion I bring you. It’s something better.” Merlin reached into his jacket pocket and presented an ornate silver and gold bracelet to Morgana on his upturned palm.

She looked from the bracelet to Arthur to Merlin, then back to the bracelet. “I don’t understand.”

“Sometimes when magic is involved in a problem, only magic can provide a solution.”

Morgana turned toward Arthur, stunned, hurt. “I can’t believe you told him. I trusted you!”

“He didn’t have to, my lady.”

 _“What?”_ She stood suddenly. “You… You knew I had magic all this time?!”

Arthur understood the outrage. He’d expected no less.

“And I haven’t told a soul,” Merlin said, as if that made it all okay. “I wanted to give you time to get to know yourself, to figure out who you want to be without the burden of hiding magic in Uther’s Camelot.”

“What would you know of it? You’re just a physician!”

“I understand you’re frightened,” Merlin said.

“How could you possibly understand? No one understands!”

Her gaze darted to the doorway like she was about to bolt any second, or maybe start another fire. Her irises flickered with gold.

“Arthur, don’t let her fall.”

Without question, Arthur lunged toward Morgana. At the same time, Merlin raised his hand, said, “ _swefe_ _nu_.”

Morgana went suddenly still, started to fall backward. Arthur caught her before she could hit anything and hefted her up in his arms.

“Lay her down,” Merlin said, moving around Arthur and toward Morgana’s bed.

Arthur did as suggested, then covered her up with the blanket she’d had over her shoulders while Merlin put the bracelet he’d brought on her wrist. They waited around in relative silence for the better part of half an hour before she began to wake.

She blinked slowly, mumbled something complimentary about the quality of her sleep, then finally noticed Arthur and Merlin sitting in a pair of chairs at her bedside.

“What’s going on?” she said, voice still saturated in sleep and seemingly oblivious to the circumstances that had lead up to her sudden nap.

“You needed a bit of rest,” Merlin said.

She looked confused for a moment, then put the pieces back together and bolted up into a sitting position. The bracelet Merlin had put on her wrist must have jostled because her eyes were suddenly drawn to it.  She stared at it as if were a poisonous snake that might bite her if she tried to touch it, but might bite all the same if she didn’t get it off her skin right this instant.

“This is magic!” she hissed, fully extending her arm to maximize the distance between her wrist and her body.

“Do you mind me using magic to help you?” Merlin said, his calm tone a jarring counterpoint to Morgana’s reemerging panic.

“You—!”

“Have you not heard the rumours about me? Thought everyone knew I used magic openly before Arthur was born.”

“Aren’t you afraid of what will happen to you if you start using it again? Everyone says—”

Merlin interrupted with a soft chuckle, looked to Arthur expectantly.

Arthur said, “You want me to tell her?”

“Tell me what?”

“Morgana trusts you more than she trusts me.”

She shifted her wary gaze to Arthur.

“Morgana, Merlin’s been protecting me with magic all my life.”

Her lips formed the shapes needed to make words, but no sounds came out as she realized that not only was Arthur speaking the truth, but that he’d been a party to the secret for a long time. Arthur could see her working through all the implications associated with that knowledge.

“You should tell her the whole story.”

Merlin heaved out a sigh, didn’t begin until Arthur gave him an encouraging nod and Morgana shifted into a more attentive posture, resting the hand with the enchanted bracelet in her lap.

“When I was young, magic was used openly by many people. Then the war came and some began to use magic for selfish reasons. Entire villages were destroyed. Many innocent people lost their lives. But even then, Uther wasn’t completely against magic. He advocated for restraint, not a total abolishment of the practice.”

Merlin was giving her the watered-down version, with none of the hard, personal details. Arthur couldn’t help but feel that made him special, that Merlin would be willing to share those memories with him but no one else.

“Uther and Ygraine were having trouble conceiving. Uther came to me for help. That sort of magic is dangerous, and I refused, told him no one else would cast the sort of spell he was looking for. When Ygraine announced she was with child, I thought it had come about through entirely ordinary means. I was wrong.

“Arthur was born in the early morning, just at sunrise, and as you know, Ygraine passed on to the next life. Uther was in a rage, completely inconsolable. He said he now saw the evil of all magic and put the ban in place. He started ordering executions that day and the mass exodus began. I spoke with those that held the highest positions in court. It was decided that someone should stay behind. I volunteered.”

“Why?” Morgana said.

“For me,” Arthur said, confident.

“In part. But also to help others evade Uther’s law. Those like you, Morgana, whose magic hadn’t yet shown itself. And because I was hopeful that after the initial shock of his wife’s death was over, he’d see reason. That I’d be able to convince him to lift the ban, or at least modify the law.”

“Well that never happened,” Morgana said. “How is it that he let you live when so many others were executed?”

“I was lucky. He trusted me because I was the one that warned him against using magic for his own gain. And it didn’t hurt that I was the only experienced physician in the city. Instead of drafting orders for my execution, he made me swear an oath to him that I wouldn’t use magic. I agreed, and he believed me. I turned right around and broke my promise. Magic is a part of me. I couldn’t repress it. I think you know what that feels like.

“This is very important, Morgana, and I need you to listen carefully.” Merlin paused to make sure she was paying adequate attention. “Magic isn’t something that should be used for your own benefit. You must find a worthy cause. That’s your first lesson. You can have more if you wish. You won’t have to be afraid of yourself.” Merlin paused again to assess Morgana’s reaction. “You don’t have to decide right now. I’ll leave you in peace. You know where to find me when you’ve made your decision.”

Arthur followed Merlin into the corridor a moment, laid a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, Merlin.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Merlin sighed, looked suddenly more his age, if only just a little. “I hope you’re right about this.”

Arthur watched him go, then returned to Morgana’s bedside.

“What are you thinking?” The expression on her face was not promising. “Morgana, you can’t leave.”

“What choice do I have, Arthur?”

“Merlin’s offered to teach you magic. You’ll be okay.”

Morgana shook her head. “I don’t think I can learn fast enough to avoid making a mistake in front of Uther. The druids can teach me just as well.”

“No, Morgana,” he said, his voice a bit more stern. “I need you here.”

“You don’t need me. You have a sorcerer who already knows what he’s doing.”

Arthur was getting desperate. He had a plan for his future and that involved Morgana’s help. He didn’t want to marry. Refused to do it. But he needed an heir. A niece or nephew would do as well as a child of his own if they were raised with the expectation. If everyone knew from the beginning. He’d never explained his plan to her before.

“I know it’s a risk, but I mean it. And it’s not as if you’re the only one Uther would hurt if he knew the truth.”

“Yes, I know. Merlin—”

“No, I’m not talking about him.” He gave her a meaningful look.

She turned her head to the side slightly, kept her eyes on him, trying to work out what he meant. Of course she hadn’t guessed. She said slowly, “You don’t have…”

“No, of course not.”

“No,” she said quickly as if she hadn’t been considering a scenario where Arthur had magic too.

He didn’t particularly want to share this with her. She was his sister and he loved her, but that didn’t mean he wanted to talk with her about his feelings for Merlin. Unfortunately, he didn’t see any other way to get her to stay in Camelot. He had to make her understand.

“I have… a different secret.”

Morgana’s curiosity had truly been piqued now. “What kind of secret?”

“The kind Father would hate me for.”

Uther might be willing to shrug off Arthur’s feelings and spare him any significant punishment, but that was no guarantee for Merlin’s safety and even that minor leniency was predicated on the condition that Arthur would still marry as Uther saw fit and produce an heir. Arthur had decided years ago that he couldn’t do that. His heart wouldn’t allow it.

She straightened in her seat, all attentive listening, but he couldn’t get the words to come out of his mouth.

She huffed in annoyance. “I have magic, Arthur. What could you possibly be keeping secret that’s worse than that?”

He swallowed down his nerves. He really had to tell her.

“Father would say I was putting my own happiness before Camelot, and maybe he’d be right, but I do have a plan. It involves you.”

“Go on.”

“I need you to get married. I don’t care who.”

She was really confused now.

“And have children… So that I can name one of them my heir when I take the throne.”

“What?” she laughed. “You’ll have your own children. I know what Merlin said about Uther and Ygraine having problems, but that’s no reason to assume that you will.”

“No, that’s not what I mean.” She wasn’t going to understand until he spelled it out for her. “I’m never going to marry.”

She thought this even more ridiculous. “Of course you will! You’re still young. Just because you haven’t found someone yet, doesn’t mean—”

“You don’t understand. I _have_ found someone. Someone who’s not the marrying sort.”

“Arthur Pendragon! Are you in love with a married woman?”

“NO! Morgana! Stop being thick. Are you doing this just to irritate me?”

She shrugged, at a complete loss. “If you’re making things up just to get me to stay—”

“It’s a man!” Arthur blurted out. “God, Morgana! See? That’s why I can’t get married.”

That shut her up fast. After a minute to process what he’d said, she made a valiant effort at speech. “You…”

He gave her a wide-eyed head nod. “Now you’re getting it.” He took a deep breath to settle himself back down. “I can’t bear the thought of being with anyone else. Not even for the good of Camelot. You’re already in the line of succession. I thought you’d be pleased that one of your children will one day be the king or queen. Assuming you... Please tell me you like men.”

“Yes, but…”

Arthur let out a heavy exhale. He’d never thought about that potential complication.

“So you don’t… You’re not attracted to any of the beautiful women around the castle? None of the potential brides that Uther keeps bringing to court?”

“Are you not paying attention?”

“Sorry. It’s just taking some readjusting of my mental image of you.”

“Well, I suppose that’s a good thing. If you didn’t suspect anything, then Father likely hasn’t either. You know what he’d do if he found out.”

“Your lover would be lucky to even get a trial.”

“He’s not my lover.”

Morgana cocked her head to the side. “But you said… You mean, you’re making these plans, sacrificing fatherhood for a man who’s what… spurned you? Not even aware of your feeling for him? I mean, even if you only like men, you can still have a wife for the sake of an heir, right?”

That was what most men in Arthur’s situation did. He found the idea unbearable. “He knows. And he hasn’t _spurned_ me.”

“I don’t get it. Are you just starting your relationship? And why are we talking about him in pronouns? You know I won’t reveal his name to Uther.”

Arthur was taking a lot of deep breaths today. This was the last of the secrets though so he might as well finish. “It’s complicated, see, because it’s… Well, it’s Merlin, all right?”

“ _Merlin?_ ”

“Do you think I’m lying?” He paused for a response. When she had no answer, he said. “And he’s a lot older than I am so he’s been…”

“What?”

“I think he’s waiting for me to be mature enough.”

“He hasn’t told you this? I know he cares for you a great deal, but if he doesn’t want you the same way that—”

“Yes, yes. I know. You think I haven’t thought this all through before?”

“Arthur, I love you. You’re my brother. I don’t want you getting hurt.” She hesitated, looked to be choosing her next words carefully. “I know you and Merlin have been spending a lot of time together lately. Don’t you think if something were going to happen, it already would have by now? You say he’s waiting for you to be mature enough, but have you not seen yourself lately? Do you not have a mirror? You’re not a little boy anymore, Arthur. Has he ever given you an indication that he wants the same things you do?”

Arthur considered the facts for the millionth time. He might have misread some things in the past, but now… “I honestly think he does.”

“Don’t you think this is something you should discuss with him?”

“What makes you think I haven’t?”

She gave him a look.

“We _have_ talked about it. Or, I’ve talked and he’s listened. I was so young when it started though, I can’t blame him for brushing it aside at the time. It wouldn’t have been right. I see that now. But lately…”

“Go on.”

“It’s little things. Glances. Small touches. He even kissed me a while back. Here.” Arthur brushed across his palms just below his wrists. “He wouldn’t lead me on like that.”

“Oh my God! Arthur!”

“What?”

“You really are completely smitten with him, aren’t you? I’ve never seen you like this before. Just look at you, all pink cheeks and shyness. You’re adorable.”

“Ugh,” he spat. “You’re disgusting. I’m regretting telling you already.”

A sudden thought occurred to her. “That flower. On your eighteenth birthday. It was Merlin that gave it to you, wasn’t it?”

He didn’t even have the chance to answer verbally.

“Ah, I knew it!” she crowed. “Are you trying for the longest courtship in history?”

“He’s not courting me.”

“Isn’t he? With flowers and kisses on your hands?”

“You don’t...” Arthur stammered. “He wasn’t…”

“Do you think maybe he’s waiting on you to make the next move?”

“I tried that already.”

“Recently?”

Arthur shook his head. She wasn’t going to understand unless he went through every last detail and he just wasn’t going to do that. He said, “Sorry Morgana, but I think I know Merlin a little better than you do.”

“I’ll tell you what. Next time I see the two of you together, I’ll pay close attention and let you know what I think.”

Arthur didn’t want her advice, but he could deal with that later. “So you’ll stay?”

Morgana climbed out of bed to stand in front of him. “I think I have to now. Without me, you’ll be heirless and pining for the rest of your life. You just make sure Merlin holds up his end of the bargain and keeps my magic hidden from Uther!”

“You can trust him,” Arthur said, allowing a little of his fondness to show through. “You see now how much I do.”


	13. A Fight to the Death, Part 1

Morgana’s health improved steadily after Merlin gave her that bracelet and started teaching her magic. She was more cheerful now, more energetic. Sometimes, that wasn’t always a good thing. She had all sorts of terrible ideas about how best to help Arthur along in his relationship with Merlin.

“You should take a cue from women, Arthur,” she said as she slowed her horse to a walk. They were out for a short ride around the fields north of the city walls, their obligatory guards trailing along behind out of hearing distance. “Do something to highlight your best features.”

Arthur curled his lips down to object.

“Don’t give me that look. It’s not as if I’m suggesting you rouge your cheeks or rub berry juice on your lips.” She paused as if considering it. “Although…”

“Morgana…”

“The two of you are a pair of idiots.”

“ _Morgana_ …” This wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation.

“I caught him staring at you out his window again yesterday. Poor fool’s utterly besotted with you. I’ll never understand how I didn’t see it before. If you refuse to put the man out of his misery, you’re just going to have to make yourself more tempting.”

Arthur heaved a put-upon sigh. She didn’t take the hint.

“Have you ever considered foregoing all the armour while you train the knights? The weather’s been a touch on the warm side. You could practice bare-chested. Give Merlin a little more of a show than he’s used to.”

“The armour is there for a reason. I don’t want to be sliced to pieces or bashed to a pulp.”

“Fine,” she said, undaunted. “Maybe… Maybe you should start sleeping without a shirt then. I’m sure we could find some excuse for Merlin to visit you first thing in the morning before George gets ahold of you. That would work better than my original suggestion. You’d both be alone and in close quarters. Plus, you’d have half the work done for him already.”

“ _Morgana!”_ Arthur said, sounding scandalized.

She laughed at him. “You’re blushing again. Is this how you’re going to act when he finally kisses you?”

“I really don’t think this is an appropriate—"

“That is what you want, isn’t it? That and more? You want to…” She gave him a disgusting, self-satisfied smirk. “...consummate your love with him?”

Arthur made a pathetic, strangled sort of sound in the back of his throat. He never should have told her about this.

“I do wish I’d know about this sooner. I could have been teasing you for years.”

“I’m so glad my suffering provides you with such amusement.”

“Suffering! What suffering? The person you love loves you in return. How bad can it really be?”

“Maybe we should stick to other topics today. Tell me how your lessons are going.”

“I cured a man’s headache yesterday. Merlin had to take the credit of course, but all he gave the man was some vinegar water.”

Merlin was purposely avoiding teaching her any magic that could be used to harm people, paranoid as he still was of some hypothetical future betrayal. She didn’t mind the restrictions, if she even noticed at all. She looked quite proud of herself for alleviating that man’s pain. And of course she did. She was a good person. She may like to tease and provoke, but she wasn’t cruel.

“Told you magic could be used for good.”

Morgana gave him a bright, genuine smile. There was no way she was going to betray him.

They were finishing their ride and nearing the outer gate when Morgana brought her horse to a stop. Her smile slipped into a worried frown, and she reached out to touch Arthur’s elbow so he would stop too.

“What is it?”

“I…” She pitched her voice low, glanced back at Sir Leon and Sir Geraint, making sure they were still sufficiently far back. “I had a nightmare again last night.”

As far as Arthur knew, this was her first nightmare since getting that bracelet.

“Camelot was burning, Arthur, and there was a massive army outside the city walls. Merlin says my dreams may be prophetic.”

“Not all your dreams, Morgana. Maybe this one was just an ordinary nightmare.”

“No, I can tell the difference! I don’t know what to do.”

Arthur wasn’t sure what to tell her. There might not be anything they could do. He tried to convince her not to worry, that they could handle whatever was coming, but he could tell it did little to allay her fears.

They handed their horses off to their escorts after they passed through the gate, and Arthur and Morgana continued on their own on foot, taking a walk through the market in the lower town. They weren’t here for pleasure, though Morgana stopped at more than one stall to admire fabric and Arthur knew not what else. They were here to be seen, to show the people they cared about them for more than the taxes they contributed to the royal coffers.

Arthur had just finished a brief chat with a spice merchant when it happened. The armour-clad figure took off his gauntlet and threw it at Arthur’s feet. He’d picked it up, thereby accepting the challenge, before hearing the terms or even knowing who it was that he’d agreed to fight. The knight was taller than Arthur by several fingers, had a medium build, and held himself well, but that was all he could tell about the man.

“I, Baldr, son of King Odin of Cornwall, challenge you, Prince Arthur Pendragon of Camelot, to single combat.”

Arthur wrinkled his brow. He’d first memorized the names of all the princes of the land when he was a boy and he’d had regular updates ever since. He’d thought Odin’s son too young to be issuing challenges. He must be confusing him with someone else.

Then the knight took his helmet off, and Arthur understood. There was nothing wrong with his memory. Arthur studied the youthful roundness of the prince’s face, the poor attempt at a beard along his jaw, the sparse growth of hair above his upper lip. Arthur put him at 17.

“What are the terms of our match?” He’d already decided to go easy on the boy. He may be tall, but no matter how well he’d been trained, he was young and inexperienced.

“To the death,” the boy said.

Arthur’s eyes bulged. “You have _got_ to be joking.” He made a curt gesture at Baldr’s face. “You’re just a boy.”

The boy smirked. “You may have won a few tournaments, but none of my father’s men were there to give you a real challenge. I expect your own men didn’t fight you to their best ability. I’ll show you what it means to be a future king. Or are you a coward?”

“I already accepted your challenge. It would be against my code of honour to back down now.”

“Good, then we will settle this tomorrow. Midday.” With that, the boy turned and marched away.

Arthur stared after him.

“What on earth was that?” Morgana said as she stepped up to his side.

“I have no idea. He made it sound like he wants to fight me purely because of some silly reputation I’ve achieved by winning a few tournaments.”

“You can’t possibly fight him.”

“What choice do I have? I can’t withdraw. It would be seen as a sign of cowardice.”

“Merlin’s not going to like this.”

“Who said anything about him finding out?”

Arthur had never been so glad that Merlin was checking up on the outlying villages over the next few days. He would do nothing but worry if he knew Arthur was in a fight to the death. Arthur could have this matter settled and Merlin wouldn’t have to know until it was already over.

Arthur wasn’t pleased about this match. He’d killed men before, and that had never bothered him, but Baldr wasn’t a man; he was just a foolish boy set out to prove himself.

He did the only thing he could think to do in this situation. He gave Prince Baldr the opportunity to withdraw privately. He drafted the letter as soon as he returned to his chambers from his outing with Morgana and had George deliver it straight away. He wasn’t surprised when his servant returned not an hour later with a reply stating that there was no circumstance in which Baldr would withdraw his challenge.

That night, sleep was hard to come by.

-x-x-

Arthur sat on a bench in the armoury. George had finished with his armour, and Arthur had sent the man out so he could have a few minutes of peace to mentally prepare for his imminent fight.

The door at the far end of the room burst open, shocking Arthur out of his contemplations. Merlin rushed in from the corridor. When he saw Arthur, his whole posture slumped. He bent forward, braced his hands against his knees, and drew in ragged breaths.

“I thought I was going to miss you,” he panted. “Was afraid you’d already be on the field.”

“I have a minute or two yet.” Arthur winced. “I’d been hoping this would all be over with before you got back.”

“News like this travels fast. I left as soon as I heard.”

“You don’t have to say it, Merlin. I already know you’re not happy about this, but what would you have me do? Withdraw? Be labeled a coward across the five kingdoms? We’d be having enemy soldiers camped outside our walls in no time if the other kings began to see the leader of Camelot’s army as a weak man.” Hadn’t Morgana already told Merlin about her dream?

“Anything, Arthur. Anything that lets you both walk away today would be preferable to killing the prince of Cornwall. Go ahead and best him. Of course, you have to do that. The other kings will see that you’re just trying to avoid trouble with Odin. Do you think he’s going to just sit back and let his son’s death go unpunished?”

“But the knight’s code—"

“Blast the code! He’s a father! He won’t see it that way. Gods, Arthur! You’re not invincible! There will be assassins after you within a month, I guarantee it. And that’s if he doesn’t decide to take out his revenge on the whole kingdom. What were you thinking? Are you _trying_ to get yourself killed?”

“You always say you’ll protect me.”

“Yes! From your enemies! I can’t save you from your own stupidity.”

Merlin had insulted him many times over the past few years, but always before in jest.

“Did you just… You can’t say that to me!”

“Why not? Because you’re a prince? One day to be king?”

“Yes!”

“Well I’m a sorcerer, Arthur. What care I for kings and princes?” His voice was low, but cutting.

“You—!” Arthur sputtered for a response. He couldn’t believe he was hearing this. “You swore loyalty to me. _Twice_.”

“Yes, Arthur,” Merlin said, finally regaining a normal volume and tone. “ _You_. Individually. Not your title. Not your rank. I thought you understood that.” 

“You’re saying you would have done the same if I wasn’t a prince, if I were just some titleless farmer, or blacksmith? If I were a stableboy?” Arthur laced the words as thick as he could with derision and skepticism.

_“YES!”_

“Oh, come now, Merlin. You really expect me to believe that? _No one_ pledges themselves to a peasant.”

Merlin looked at him, completely serious, maybe even a little sad. “Of course they do, Arthur. It happens all the time.” His voice dropped to a murmur. “Granted, it’s not usually a one-way affair.” ~~~~

Arthur couldn’t speak, not for a full half minute. When he finally did get words out, all he could say was, “Merlin, I—” because the only thing he could think of that fit Merlin’s description was marriage.

Horns sounded, announcing Arthur’s approach to the tournament field. George tapped on the door. “My lord, it’s time.”

“I have to go. We’ll talk about this more after I’ve won.” He hated walking away, but there would be plenty of time to fix his romantic life after this was over.

Arthur strode across the tournament field and bowed before his father and sister. Morgana’s eyes shifted to something behind Arthur. He assumed she was seeing Merlin trailing along after him, sliding into his usual spot at the field entrance, because her existing frown deepened. Arthur couldn’t spare any more thought for either of them at the moment. It was time to focus on winning this fight.

The kid smirked at him when he took his position, and Arthur had the sudden desire to teach him a lesson. Who was he to barge into Arthur’s life and demand that they fight to the death? He shouldn’t feel bad about this. With such foolishness, the boy was going to wind up dead soon whether Arthur did the killing or not.

“I’m offering you one last chance to withdraw.”

“Maybe you’re the one that should withdraw. You seem awfully keen to avoid fighting me. If you’re too scared, I’ll graciously accept your surrender.”

As his response, Arthur slid his helmet on and took up his usual stance.

The boy grinned and followed suite. Off to the side, Uther said, “Begin,” and Arthur stepped forward with an aggressive swing that sent the boy stumbling back a few paces.

The idiot of a prince wasn’t worried. He laughed, shouted, “That’s more like it!” through the grill of his helmet and stepped back into striking range.

Arthur knocked aside the boy’s attempt at an offensive strike and moved right on to pummel him with a series of blows that would leave dark bruises even if his heart wasn’t beating much longer. The boy tried to recover, but Arthur’s next blow was well aimed and sent him sprawling backward onto the ground. The jarring collision caused his helmet to tumble away and when his eyes came back to Arthur, they were wild with sudden fear.

Arthur smirked, though his opponent couldn’t see it. The kid was finally beginning to understand the mess he’d got himself into. Feeling generous, Arthur pulled his helmet off, tossed it to the side, and motioned the boy to get up. The crowd roared their approval.

After another short round, the boy was once again on the ground, this time face down and trying to climb back to a stand, his progress slowed somewhat by his armour.

Arthur was breathing hard, but nowhere near his limit. He grabbed the boy’s hair and wrenched him onto his knees, put the tip of his sword to the junction between his neck and shoulder. He could slide the blade in between the gaps in his armour, have a straight shot to his heart with no pesky bones in the way. He glanced to the side. Merlin had his head angled away, like he didn’t want to look, but felt determined to witness the impending carnage; his eyes were locked on Arthur.

Anything that let them both walk away, he’d said.

“A temporary reprieve,” Arthur said.

The boy whimpered as if he didn’t yet realize Arthur was offering him a way out.

“One year. If you wish to live out the next few seconds, you’ll agree.”

The boy said nothing.

“You do want to live, don’t you?” Arthur tightened his hold on the boy’s hair. _“Don’t you?”_

“Yes!” he said in a rush. “Yes, please. I want to live.”

“Then you agree to my terms?”

“Yes,” the boy croaked.

“Louder, so everyone can hear.”

“I agree to your terms for a temporary reprieve!”

Arthur pushed him forward into the dirt and returned his sword to his belt.

“I could…” The boy licked his lips, clambered slowly to his feet. “I could spend the whole time training.”

“Do as you like. I placed no restrictions on how you spend your time.”

Arthur’s father gave him a faint nod, then swept out of his royal box to head back to the citadel. He would be wanting to speak with Arthur about this.

On his way off the field, Arthur stopped beside Merlin. He could see it clearly now. Merlin had been waiting for Arthur to tell him he was ready in a way that he could believe. He’d grown impatient, but he was never going to initiate anything on his own. He’d been waiting _for Arthur_. He was never going to live it down when Morgana learned she’d been right.

He said, “Come to my chambers this evening for dinner. We’ll talk. Nothing else if you don’t want.”

Merlin didn’t have the opportunity to respond before Arthur was pulled away to speak with his father. Their meeting was brief. It started with, “Your mother would be proud of you today,” which left Arthur feeling off-balance but honored, and ended with Uther saying, “You’ll really have to kill him next year.”

All Arthur could say was, “I know." A person could only be granted so many chances. Maybe Baldr would gain enough sense between now and then that he would withdraw. Arthur wasn’t holding his breath.

-x-x-

Arthur stood waiting in his chambers, his guts churning like he’d never experienced. The servants had already been in to set the table and lay out the food. It looked perfect, but Arthur adjusted the placement of a fork, took a cloth to a plate, though there wasn’t so much as a speck of dust on the polished silver. He checked the arrangement of his hair in the mirror Morgana had given him on his last birthday, then checked it again not two minutes later.

Maybe he’d made a mistake. What if Merlin didn’t come?

There was a knock at the door. He cleared his throat. “Enter.”

Merlin walked in wearing a light blue-grey tunic that Arthur had never seen before.

“Please.” He motioned to the chair adjacent to his. “Sit.”

Merlin hesitated, but only for a moment, then did as requested.

Neither spoke.

Arthur cleared his throat again. “So, it’s vegetable stew tonight.” It was the best he could do.

Merlin didn’t call attention to the fact that the meal was plainly visible. Besides the stew, there was also fresh bread, a small roast chicken, assorted berries, and baked apples for dessert.

“My favourite.”

“I know.”

“You hate it.” They were both excelling at stating the obvious tonight.

“Yes, I know. Maybe the company will be a mitigating factor.”

Merlin gave him a subtle smile.

“I’ve told George that I won’t need him the rest of the evening, so we shouldn’t be interrupted.”

This was the most awkward he’d felt around Merlin since he was seventeen and lost his mind long enough to pleasure himself within hearing distance.

Before either of them could take a single bite, there was something Arthur needed to get out of the way.

“When I said no one would pledge themselves to a peasant, I was speaking of politics, not my feelings. They haven’t changed. I didn’t mean to imply that you were unworthy of devotion.”

“It’s fine.” Merlin reached for his goblet of wine, but Arthur caught his hand, didn’t let go.

“No, it’s not, and I’m sorry.”

Merlin looked down to where their hands now rested on the table, then turned his gaze to Arthur.

“And there’s… something else I want to say.” He ran his thumb across the back of Merlin’s hand, felt emboldened when he didn’t pull away. “When I was a child, you loved me as a child. As I grew, your feelings changed with me. There’s nothing wrong with that. That’s only natural. It’s okay for you to want me.”

Merlin stared at him for several long moments. He’d done this before and Arthur finally understood what the look meant. At last Merlin said, “You really are grown up now, aren’t you?”

“There is still a lot I need to learn.”

Merlin let out a soft chuckle. “Are you trying to prove my point?”

Arthur stood and moved to Merlin’s side, leaned down and put a hand on his cheek. Merlin turned to accommodate him, looked up at him with big, earnest eyes, and let out a stuttered breath. Arthur rested their foreheads together, whispered, “It’s okay. I’m nervous too.”

Arthur tipped Merlin’s chin up and leaned in. He paused when their lips were barely touching, so he could savour Merlin’s warm breath on his lips like he’d imagined so many times. Then Merlin brought a hand up to cover Arthur’s and Arthur was closing that last tiny distance, pressing their lips together in a soft, beautiful kiss. Merlin’s lips were warm and yielding beneath his and any self-consciousness or anxiety he’d been feeling melted away. He only had room in his head for how perfect this moment felt, because it wasn’t just a kiss, it was confirmation that everything he’d been feeling all these years was true. That he hadn’t just been imagining it or deluding himself. Merlin loved him, and now he was mature enough, wanted him.

Merlin shifted suddenly, failed in pushing back his chair and let it topple behind him as he stood to wrap his arms around Arthur—one hand slipping around to the back of his head, the other settling just to the side of the small of Arthur’s back. Merlin made good use of the grip, pulled their bodies closer.

Arthur let out a muffled little gasp when he felt Merlin’s tongue brush against his bottom lip. He’d never kissed like this before. It sent a spark down the back of his head, along his neck, down his spine, all the way to the base of his tailbone. He felt like he was going to float away. That or burn to a crisp right here. It was blazing hot all of a sudden and he wanted to pull off his jacket, but at the same time, he didn’t want to take his hands off Merlin for even a second.

When they finally pulled apart to catch their breath, Arthur took the opportunity to appreciate Merlin’s thick eyelashes, the perfect, smooth skin around his eyes, the fullness of his kiss swollen lips… He cocked his head to the side. Something was strange. Even as he watched, Merlin’s skin seemed to shift. It took a moment for him to realize what he was seeing.

“Merlin, when is this whole age reversal spell going to stop?

“How do you know it hasn’t already?”

“Because I swear you look younger than when you came in here. In fact…” Arthur squinted his eyes to focus on tiny details of Merlin’s skin, turned the man’s head from side to side to verify that he really was seeing what he thought he was seeing. “I can see the spell working even as we talk.”

“What?” Merlin said, with a nervous chuckle.

“You let it go too much longer, you’re going to be a child again. Then where will you be? You have all these plans, right?” Arthur angled his head for a different perspective. “Merlin, I think it’s speeding up.”

Merlin took on a look of deep concentration, then his eyes went suddenly wide with alarm.

“This spell,” Merlin said, the words rushed and shaky, “it’s continuously drawing a small fraction of my strength. It’s all proportional. I guess, the more my powers grow, the quicker the magic works. It doesn’t help that we’re… Well, I’ve always felt my strongest when I’m close with you.”

Arthur didn’t need an explanation to know that Merlin wasn’t talking about their physical proximity, which was good because all this talk was doing nothing to fix the problem and the more Arthur watched, the more troubling it became. “You need to stop. Right now.”

Merlin nodded, spoke a few soft words. His eyes sparked with the telltale gold light that meant he was working magic and yet his skin still seemed to shift and change, the line of his jaw looked a tiny fraction softer. Merlin looked down at the skin on his hands, noticed the same thing Arthur had and tried a second time. Again, his eyes flashed, but the spell had no effect. He’d looked alarmed before, now he looked downright frightened.

“What’s wrong?” Arthur hadn’t needed to ask. He knew the answer. “You’re panicking.”

“I… I’ve had this spell running, unconsciously, day and night for as long as you’ve been alive. It’s harder to stop than I anticipated.”

Arthur gripped Merlin’s upper arms, tried to keep him focused on finding a solution. “What can I do?”

Merlin trembled beneath his grip. “Nothing.”

But that wasn’t true. It was up to him to calm Merlin down. He kissed the man’s forehead. “Relax, Merlin. I believe in you. If you can’t trust in yourself right now, then trust in me. It’s going to be all right.”

Merlin’s trembling eased. He said, “I trust you, Arthur,” and tried the spell again. It sounded like the same words, but his voice was deeper, stronger, it resonated through the room. He closed his eyes to concentrate and when he opened them again there was a flash of gold light.

Arthur held his breath. “Did it work?”

“Yes,” Merlin said, sounding tired. He looked down at his hands, his legs, pulled up his shirt to see his belly. “I’m a bit scrawny, aren’t I? How young do I look?”

“Young. Younger than me, I’m sure. Maybe Gaius’s age?”

Merlin gave himself another once over. “No. It’s not that bad. I’ve always looked younger than I really am.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. Of course he looked younger than he was what with his magic and all.

Arthur brought Merlin his mirror. He prodded at his cheeks. “Ah, well. It is a bit further than I’d thought to ever go, but I don’t look any younger than you.”

“If you say so. What will you tell everyone when they realize you’ve started aging normally again?”

“Don’t know. I suppose I’ll just say that the sorcerer who set the enchantment must have died, thereby breaking the spell.”

“Your answer is to tell them you’re dead?”

“Well, they don’t know it’s me, do they?” Merlin’s cheeky grin slipped. “Do you think you could still… want me?” he said, then affected a lighthearted tone that might have fooled someone else but wasn’t fooling Arthur. “You know, now that you seem to think I look _so_ much younger than you.”

Arthur wasn’t going to let that stand. Without hesitation he said, “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

“Are you sure? I could probably age myself a year or two so that I’m clearly older than you, if it would make you more comfortable.”

With as much trouble as he’d just had, Arthur wasn’t about to let him experiment on himself with more aging spells.

“Please don’t. You’re obviously still an adult, and besides, you’ve always had the same look about you to my eyes.”

“Oh, and what look is that?” Merlin smiled, shaking his head slightly, bracing himself for the punchline and so Arthur went with the truth instead. 

“The look of my dearest friend.” He lost his nerve when Merlin’s smile turned soft and misty eyed, and he retreated to the safety of teasing. “Though why I’d be so close with someone who’s such a girl’s petticoat, I’ll never understand.”

Merlin pushed at his shoulder. “You’re the one saying such sweet things.”

“Yes, well, I am a prince; I’m meant to be charming.”

“Full of yourself too. There’s another princely stereotype for you to check off your list.”

Arthur laughed, feeling positively giddy. He grabbed Merlin’s arms and pulled him close again. His lips moved to Merlin’s neck, worked on sucking a bruise into the skin there until Merlin guided his head up to meet his lips again. When the kiss ended, his head was still swimming. He felt delirious, as though he’d been training all day in the hot sun and now he was unexpectedly resting in the shade; his brain didn’t know what to make of the sudden change. He forgot all about his practice and the words he’d planned to say when he envisioned this moment in his mind. Forgot about confidence and taking control and creating the right mood. The words just tumbled out, as they so often did around Merlin.

“Will you lie with me tonight?”

Merlin took just long enough to respond, to think it through, that Arthur began to worry. He’d been too upfront with what he wanted. He’d scared Merlin off, surging ahead like this when they’ve only just started. But then Merlin said, “Yes.”

Arthur leaned in for another kiss, but was interrupted by the grumble of Merlin’s stomach, and as if that weren’t enough to break the mood, Merlin followed it up with a wide yawn. Breaking that spell might have worn him out. 

“Are you tired?”

A cheeky grin sprouted on Merlin’s face. Maybe he wasn’t exhausted by working that magic after all. He said, “Is that your way of telling me you’re ready for bed?”

“What? No!” Arthur could feel his cheeks heating up, and he wished Morgana hadn’t teased him earlier about just this sort of thing happening. “You yawned! It’s a perfectly reasonable question. And you haven’t even touched your dinner. I didn’t mean to disrupt your meal. It’s probably cold by now. I can call a servant to—"

“So now you’re telling me that I need to keep my strength up.”

“ _Merlin!_ I’m trying to be a gentleman.”

Merlin laughed, but relented, said, “I am hungry, actually.”

“All right.” Arthur nodded and they returned to their seats, finally dug into their meal. Halfway through Arthur said, “Sorry if I was too forward earlier. When I asked you to stay with me tonight.”

“Don’t be shy now, Arthur,” Merlin grinned. “You’ve only been propositioning me since you were 16.”

Arthur nearly choked on his soup. They’d never talked about that moment before—when Arthur had found himself on his knees in front of Merlin to inspect a perfectly healed wound and had made it clear without words that he wanted to pleasure Merlin with his mouth.

“You can’t even swallow soup tonight. I don’t know what made you think you were ready to swallow me down at such a tender age.”

Arthur gave another splutter of coughs, pounded on his chest. “You just can’t stop yourself tonight, can you?”

“Sorry,” he said, sounding genuinely remorseful. “Just trying to ease some of my own nerves.”

Arthur shook his head. “It’s going to take a little getting used to—hearing you talk like that—but don’t you dare apologize.”

As they started in on their baked apples, a loud knock interrupted their meal. Arthur suppressed a groan. Merlin didn’t look thrilled about it either.

“Sorry to bother you, my lord.”

The sound was muted through the door, but there was no mistaking Sir Lucan’s voice, and Arthur relaxed a fraction. He still wasn’t pleased about the interruption, but at least he didn’t have to try and come up with some excuse for his dinner companion or less than pristine appearance for Lucan. The young knight had kept Arthur’s secret so well, he sometimes forgot the man even knew.

“Enter.”

The knight opened the door, stepped inside, took one look at the meal laid out on Arthur’s table, at the man seated adjacent to him, and his lip twitched up a fraction before he schooled his expression into a respectful frown. “The king wishes to see you at once, Prince Arthur.”

“Something the matter?”

“There’s been a report from one of the outer patrols, my lord. I wasn’t privy to the details.” He glanced at Merlin. “I’ll just step outside a minute.”

Arthur stood, tried to formulate an adequate apology. He didn’t have one. All he could say was, “I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault. Here.” Merlin ran his fingers through Arthur’s hair, swept his hands down Arthur’s shirt. “Think I might have rumpled your clothes a bit.”

“I’ll try and be back as fast as I can, but I don’t know how long this is going to take. I know it’s unfair to ask that you wait here on your own, but—”

“It’s all right, Arthur. I’ll stay.”

“Don’t feel you need to wait up for me if it gets to be too late.” Arthur nodded toward his bed. “I can always wake you up, if you like, when I get back.”

Merlin started to protest, to promise to stay up as long as needed.

“I don’t mind you sleeping in my bed, Merlin. I _want_ you sleeping in my bed.”

Merlin gave him a happy little grin and Arthur couldn’t help returning it. But then his chamber door was closing between them, and he was heading in the opposite direction.

Sir Lucan walked half a pace behind, and Arthur turned his head to the side to say, “A servant could have been sent with this message.”

“I volunteered for the task. I saw Merlin headed toward your chambers earlier looking unusually flustered. I thought it might be prudent if I were to deliver the message myself, maybe help you avoid gossip… And I admit, I was curious.” Lucan paused, weighing his next words carefully. “I hope you don’t mind my saying, but it’s good to see you both looking so happy.”

Arthur tried not to blush and strode down the hall. The sooner he could meet with his father, the sooner he could get back to Merlin.

“Arthur, there you are.” Uther handed him a report and Arthur stepped closer to a candle to read it. It was from Sir Lamorak. He was supposed to have met up with Sir Bedivere and the six men under his command the night before last, but they never showed. It could be nothing. It could mean trouble.

Arthur wanted to send a dozen men to look for them just to be on the safe side and be done with it. His father, on the other hand, wanted to review every report from the eastern border in the last year and make sure they weren’t overlooking something. It took hours and accomplished nothing, as Arthur had known it would. He read every report himself as they came in. He wouldn’t have let any warning signs slip through like that. In the end, they sent the men Arthur had recommended, and he was finally able to return to his chambers.

When he arrived, it was to find Merlin asleep in the chair by the fire, a book carelessly dropped to the floor beside him so that the pages were bent and creased. Arthur shook his head, then went over to wake him. He picked up the book, straightening the pages and setting it on the table. Still crouched to the ground, he put a hand on Merlin’s knee and gave it a gentle shake.

“Merlin,” he whispered.

Without opening his eyes, Merlin let out a barely recognizable string of sounds. After replaying them in his head a few times, Arthur concluded that he’d been trying to say, ‘I’m waiting for Arthur,’ which was ridiculous.

“You don’t have to wait anymore.” He stood. “Come on. Time for bed.” He helped Merlin to his feet and over to the bed, carrying more of Merlin’s weight than the man himself did. He’d already taken off his boots and jacket, so Arthur just helped him slide under the blankets. Then he went over to his wardrobe to change into his own sleepwear.

When he returned to bed, Merlin was fast asleep again. Arthur didn’t have the heart to wake him. He rolled onto his side and slid as close as he could to Merlin, let his top arm drape over the man’s chest, and drifted off to sleep himself.

A few hours later, Arthur woke up as he usually did, but this time, it was to find Merlin watching him.

“Been sleeping well so far tonight, Arthur?”

Arthur grinned at him.

“Do you usually wake up this time of night?”

“Mmm. Unless I was up particularly late.”

“And what do you usually do when you’re awake in the middle of the night?”

Arthur smiled, only a little embarrassed. “Sometimes I’ll read or go over my schedule for the next day. But mostly, I think about you, about what it would be like to have you in bed with me like this.”

Merlin turned his head to take in the expanse of the bed. “I don’t remember how I got here.”

“You were asleep by the fire when I got back from my meeting with Father. I helped you into bed, but I don’t think you were fully awake.”

“You should have woken me. I said we could…” He moved a tentative hand over to Arthur’s arm.

Arthur swallowed heavily, licked his lips. “We still can… unless you’ve changed your mind.”

Merlin shook his head. “I haven’t.”

“Good.” Arthur lifted himself onto one elbow, put his other hand on the bed on Merlin’s far side, then leaned over and kissed him again.

He’d always imagined that Merlin, being older and therefore more experienced, would be the one to lead things, but he seemed quite content to let Arthur take charge. Maybe there was still some lingering fear that he might be pushing Arthur into something he wasn’t ready for, that he might be taking advantage. Maybe Arthur could do something now to soften those fears. He slid his right leg across Merlin’s body and sat up, took his time to enjoy the view of Merlin underneath him, then moved back to kiss along Merlin’s jaw, his neck, pushed aside his shirt to get at his collar bones.

“Help me,” he whispered as he reached down to tug off Merlin’s shirt.

Merlin did help, sat up and did most of the work himself, then turned his attention to Arthur and paid him the same service.

When Arthur’s shirt was relegated to a spot on the floor, Merlin murmured a soft spell, and the candles sitting on his bedside table sprang to life.

At Arthur’s look, he said, “I want to see you better.”

Arthur couldn’t argue with that. He liked being observed in this way. Merlin’s eyes trailed down his torso, lingered a while on his still clothed crotch where the fabric of his smallclothes couldn’t hide his eagerness. Arthur sat still, letting him look, until he couldn’t take it anymore and said, “Touch me.”

And finally he did, enlisting both hands to the task, trailing one down and across Arthur’s chest, grazing past a nipple, and over to his side to trace the outline of his ribs, while the other hand gripped at Arthur’s left leg just below the middle of his thigh—at the place Arthur had broken his leg so many years ago, at the wound Merlin had revealed himself as a sorcerer to heal. It felt like there must be a tiny trace of that magic left in his bone still to this day, because it reacted to Merlin’s touch with a pleasant tingle.

When Merlin’s explorations arrived at his braies, he loosened the fabric and pulled them off, leaving Arthur completely bare.

Merlin leaned forward to plant a kiss on Arthur’s belly and unexpectedly, Arthur laughed. “Tickles,” he said when Merlin gave him an inquiring look. “Do it again.”

Arthur carded his fingers through Merlin’s hair as he did as requested. Then he pulled him up for more kisses on the mouth. Arthur slid over to the side to help Merlin with his trousers and Arthur found himself at long last with not a stitch between him and Merlin, the man he’d loved his entire life, been in love with since he was capable of the emotion.

Merlin’s body was every bit as ready as his own. He could scarcely believe it. He stared, like he always knew he would. Stared at Merlin’s plump cock, at his lower-on-the-right stones. He wanted to do more than look but he froze, suddenly indecisive. There were so many things he wanted to try. It made it hard to choose. He rather fancied the notion of having Merlin inside him. He hadn’t tried anything of the sort for years, but it would be different with Merlin here to keep him company afterward, he felt certain of that. Then again, he wouldn’t be opposed to doing things the other way round if that was what Merlin wanted. Not at all. He felt a little lightheaded just thinking about it.

And yet, he also wanted to explore first. Wanted to know how smooth Merlin’s private skin felt in his hand, so he reached out, traced the circumference of Merlin’s glans with his index finger, added his thumb to test the slide of his foreskin. Watched in amazement as a few beads of clear fluid bubbled up to glisten along the slit.

“Wow,” he breathed.

Merlin let out a tiny whimper, his cock twitching. His eyes flickering between Arthur’s hands, his neglected manhood, and his lips. Arthur added his free hand to tug gently at Merlin’s stones.

He couldn’t help but mentally list all the ways they were different. For one, Merlin had more hair on this area of his body than Arthur did. They’re coloration was slightly different, their length and girth. Arthur tested the weight of each of Merlin’s parts. The differences were noticeable, but not so drastic that touching Merlin should feel so very different from touching himself, and yet it did. In every possible way. His heart swelled with the experience, with each puff of air from Merlin’s lungs, with the way his stomach and leg muscles trembled with restraint as Arthur moved on from idle touching to actually providing Merlin with some relief.

Arthur licked his lips, eager to sink down and finally learn what Merlin tasted like, when Merlin said, “Wait.”

Arthur stopped, instantly releasing his hold, eyebrows drawing in tight, frown spreading. Before he could pull back even further, Merlin’s hands were on his arms, pulling him closer.

“Sorry,” Merlin said, planting a kiss at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I just… I want us to finish together.”

Arthur’s world righted itself again. That wasn’t an unreasonable request.

“Lie back for me?” Merlin put a hand on his chest, barely had to use any pressure, and Arthur was doing as he’d asked. He left himself propped up on his elbows so he could see what Merlin was doing. “Spread your knees?” And Arthur wondered if maybe Merlin wasn’t going to bugger him after all, but that wasn’t what he had in mind.

He scooted down, situated himself between Arthur’s drawn up knees, put a hand on each of his inner thighs, and leaned down close enough to ghost his breath over Arthur’s cock. He curled his fingers around him, just holding, and Arthur could feel the blood pounding through his body. When he finally leaned forward, Merlin put a sloppy open mouth kiss right on the head.

“Is this okay?” Merlin said. “You like this, right?”

Arthur couldn’t speak for a full ten seconds, because Merlin was thinking back to when he’d gone to the Ploughman’s Rest and of all the services offered, he’d chosen to get his cock sucked. Merlin had said he didn’t care, but he clearly remembered the incident, had thought about it, chose to do this now because it was the one thing he knew for certain that Arthur liked. He finally managed to get a word out, but it was more groan than “yes.”

Merlin didn’t need any more confirmation. He took Arthur into his mouth, used his hand to get at the part he couldn’t fit past his lips. He swirled his tongue, sucked him hard, took breaks to trail kisses along his length or mouth at his stones when Arthur couldn’t stop his hips from making tiny rolling motions, trying to thrust deeper into his mouth.

“Ah, Merlin—” He was so close now. He didn’t want it to end and knew Merlin wanted them to finish together, but he wasn’t sure he could hold out much longer. Merlin seemed to understand what he was trying to say without the need to articulate any further. He took another pause in his attentions, crawled up along Arthur’s body, leaving his wet and glistening cock to drip onto his belly. Merlin kissed him hard, his tongue eagerly exploring the inside of Arthur’s mouth.

Arthur wasn’t sure what to do next. He only knew what little he’d heard or seen on accident. His actual experience was incredibly small. Luckily, Merlin seemed to have some idea of how he wanted to go about it.

Merlin rolled onto his side, pulling Arthur along with him. Arthur moved as close as he could and that seemed to be the perfect thing to do. Their cocks brushed against each other without effort and he instantly realized that this was Merlin’s intent. He moved Arthur’s hand down to grasp them together, and Arthur let out a soft moan.

He was quickly becoming very fond of this position. There was no need to strain to move their hips or kiss. It was easy to watch each other too. Merlin stared into his eyes and Arthur couldn’t look away, could see the pleasure he felt mirrored back at him in Merlin’s expressions.

“ _Arthur_ ,” Merlin said, more than just a bit of urgency in his voice. The sound of it was more perfect than any aria or sonnet he’d ever heard. “Waited so long for you.”

Arthur surged forward to catch Merlin’s lips with his own, had to pull away as he tipped over the edge and spurted his seed between them. Moments later, Merlin was doing the same.

Panting heavily, Merlin rested his forehead against Arthur’s. When he’d caught his breath, he gave Arthur a slow, lazy kiss, his urgency all spent for the time being.

“Was it all you’d hoped?”

Arthur couldn’t stop himself from laughing. Merlin couldn’t possibly be worried about his performance, could he?

“I wouldn't say _all_ ,” he teased. “I’ve a good imagination, and I’ve thought up far more possibilities than we can get to tonight. But if you’re wanting to know if I’m satisfied…” He yawned then, as if his body were eager to prove how thoroughly spent he felt. “I am for now.” He grabbed his shirt off the floor, used it to clean up the mess they made between them.

“What about you? I know I’m inexperienced. If there’s anything you want me to do differently…”

“I think you overestimate how much experience I have.”

Arthur was feeling rather tired at the moment, but that caught his attention. He’d always assumed Merlin had his pick of lovers. He knew the man hadn’t been with anyone recently. They’d been spending too much time together for Merlin to be able to keep something like that from him, but when he was younger…

“How much experience do you have?”

“Not any for a very long time.”

“How long?”

When Merlin didn’t answer, Arthur started throwing out guesses. “Five years?” That would put it back to when Arthur was 17 and the whole mess at the brothel.

Merlin snorted with laughter.

“Ten?”

“We’ll be at this all night at this rate.”

“Not since I was born?”

When Merlin still refused to answer, Arthur said, “You’re having me on.”

“I’m really not.” He didn’t elaborate.

“Come on, Merlin. You’ll kiss me and sleep with me now, but you won’t tell him how long it’s been since you’ve been with someone?”

“It’s a bit embarrassing.”

“I won’t tease you.”

There was a pause and Arthur let it go, correctly assuming that Merlin was working up his courage to tell him.

“I think I was in my mid-twenties.”

“What?” Arthur laughed, not teasing, just in disbelief. “Why would you do that? Surely you had someone interested.”

“I did. But it’s hard to be with a person when you know you’re meant for someone else. It was for me anyway.”

“Me?”

“I know it hasn’t felt like it for you, but I’ve always been yours.”

Arthur wanted to reply, but he had so much going through his head, he didn’t know where to start.

“And I always will be.” He paused. “Most people, they have a decent idea of how long they might live, their maximum potential. With my magic, I really don’t know how long I might last. Maybe it will be 50 or 60 years before you reach your limit and I follow along soon after. Maybe I have another 100 left in me. But even if it’s a thousand or more, I’ll always be yours. There will never be anyone else.”

“ _Merlin_.” He wasn’t just pledging faithfulness until death, like couples do at handfasting ceremonies. He was giving Arthur an eternity. “If you’re right and I do… go before you. I don’t want you to be lonely.”

“I can never be truly alone. I’ll always have a piece of you. Here.” He put Arthur’s hand over his heart. “Won’t I?”

“Of course. You have my whole heart, Merlin.”

Arthur leaned forward and used the pleasant little trick Merlin had taught him of using his tongue with his lips to kiss. He wouldn’t have minded if it had become more heated. When he touched himself, he could usually recover fairly quickly. Being with Merlin was a lot more exhausting, a lot more satisfying, and his body stayed relaxed. That was all right, because lying together like this, side by side, Merlin’s hand on his hip, sipping in each other’s breath, warm feet nestled together, this was a pleasure in and of itself. As much as he wanted this moment to last forever, he allowed his eyes to close. They would have more time together in the morning.

He was moments from sleep when a thought caused his eyes to popped back open. “That’s it!”

“Arthur?” Merlin was an odd combination of groggy and alarmed.

“Us. Together. Like this. That’s what you saw at the Crystal Cave. First when you were young, then again when I took you there to heal after you were injured at the Isle of the Blessed.” No wonder Merlin hadn’t wanted to tell him what he’d seen at the time.

“Yes.” The alarm slipped away and Merlin gave him a lazy smile. “But not only that. Remember what I said? I could feel it too.” He brushed a hand across Arthur’s cheek. “Knew how much I would love you.”

Arthur couldn’t help but smile at the admission. Merlin had said it all along of course, that he loved Arthur, but it was different now.

“Well, I had a hint anyway.”

“Do you ever wish we’d grown up together? Everything would have been so much easier—for both of us. You wouldn’t have needed to worry that you were rushing me or hurting me. I wouldn’t have had to worry that my feelings would never be returned. Neither of us would have needed to wait. Would have been nice.”

“I was reckless when I was young. Magic was accepted at the time and I fancied myself invincible just because I had a lot of potential. I set off from home. Got lost along the way, found the Crystal Cave. I was excited at first. Went all over looking for you. Got into all sorts of trouble. I was impatient to meet you. I didn’t realize how very long I had to wait. Your parents weren’t even born yet.

“You were reckless too for a while there. Scrambling down dangerous cliffs unaided, racing off on quests by yourself. Now, I think maybe it was a good thing we didn’t grow up together. We’d have got each other killed.”

Arthur was about to suggest that it would have all worked out if Merlin had been born later, that he’d have been more careful if he’d been raised after magic was outlawed, but he quickly dismissed the notion. Merlin would have grown up in a world suspicious of magic. Even if he did manage to avoid execution, it would have been painful to have to spend his entire life hiding who he really was. Arthur didn’t want that for him. It was bad enough that he had to hide now.

“Together we’re going to be unstoppable.”

“Feels that way, doesn’t it?”

Arthur nodded and let himself slip into a peaceful sleep.

He woke early, just before the sun began to peek above the horizon. He would usually sleep at least another hour, but he was looking forward to what the morning would bring. Beside him, Merlin showed no signs of waking. His expression was relaxed and still, and the blankets had slipped down in the night to expose the beautiful, pale skin of his chest. Arthur was contemplating all the pleasant ways he could rouse Merlin when the alarm bell began to toll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 9/9/18 Update - I'm still plugging away on the ending. I knew it was going to be a long chapter, but it's turning out to be even longer than I expected. The ending is going to be over 25,000 words. You may noticed I've added an extra chapter on there. That's not due to length though. Chapter 15 will be more of an epilogue.  
> 7/9/18 Update - Sorry Chapter 14 is taking so long to finish up guys. I promise I'll get there.


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